I can hardly believe it, but my 63rd birthday is just around the corner. To be honest, I’ve been sitting with that number for a few days, letting it settle. In a world that’s always telling us to stay “sharp” or “tough,” reaching sixty-three feels a little different. It feels… gentler.

I recently came across a line in Riley Sager’s Middle of the Night that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about:

“Maybe the reason we soften around the edges as we age is to cushion the blows of life.”

When I first read that, I took a deep breath. For years, I think I fought that “softening.” I wanted to keep the sharp edges of my youth—the rigid plans, the quick defenses, the need to be everything to everyone. But as I look in the mirror at sixty-three, I’m starting to see that softness as a superpower.

Think about it: a pillow is much better at absorbing a fall than a stone is.

By letting our hearts soften, by being a little kinder to ourselves, and by letting go of the need to be “hard,” we actually build a better cushion for whatever life throws our way. At sixty-three, I’m finding that I don’t react to the storms as loudly as I used to. I’ve got more padding now—years of laughter, a few more tears, and a whole lot of grace—to keep my spirit safe.

So, as I blow out the candles this year, I’m not wishing for my youth back. I’m wishing to stay soft. I’m wishing to be a place of landing for the people I love, and a place of peace for myself.

Thank you for being part of my journey here on Poetry Pop and for letting me share these quiet thoughts with you. Here’s to the many, many years of becoming exactly who we were meant to be!

I’ll leave you with an Acrostic poem I wrote for my birthday a few years back:

A BIRTHDAY ACROSTIC

Birthdays creep around every year like organized thieves,
Intent on stealing our hair, our height, our youth.
Reaching out to us, they masquerade as friends.
Throwing confetti to distract us, they get us
High on sugar then rob us blind.
Dutifully, they leave gifts of wisdom and confidence.
And they nudge us with little reminders to be grateful.
Yes, grateful—that they are still coming around. With cake.

©Danna Smith at poetrypop.com. All rights reserved.

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