Birthday Yoga

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I've been dreading it for a month. Let's be brutally honest, we live in a society where after 22, every birthday makes a gal a little bit less valuable. And in Las Vegas—the land of sugar daddies and sequins—the situation is worse.

But if yoga has taught me anything, it's that I don't have to buy into any of this baloney. Sure, I have a few more gray hairs than I did a few years ago, but who cares? (And really, if you actually do care about my gray hair, then you're either my mom or you have too much time on your hands.)

Here's what really matters: That light that shines in me that also shines in you burns no less brightly every year that passes. In fact, I may venture to guess that it shines ever brighter as we gain more wisdom and experiences.

And in fact, if you look at my birthday cake from last year (see above), my friends who made it seemed to love me just as much as ever a year older.

Okay, even after writing this post, I still have a little birthday anxiety. So I'm just going to calm myself by repeating the Serenity prayer and making my gift wish list.