Well, congratulations to me. I’m a decade younger than I was three months ago. That’s fine, I never have felt my chronological age. And given the events of the past several years, I really wouldn’t mind a do over of a few of them. 2020 was NOT the worst year of the last 10 for me, that should say a lot. So here’s to being 40 again.

Let me explain. My biological father died in January. He and my bio mom were practically babies when I was born. But he was the second father I’ve lost. My adoptive father died at just 42 years old, when I was a preschooler. Between the two of them, if I count up the time I remember spending with both, I’ve had a father for about four conscious years.

The age thing plays out in funny ways. My youngest sister is younger than my older two kids. My stepmother was in kindergarten when I was born. So quirky age things aren’t uncommon in my family. But when my father’s tombstone was recently installed, it had a glaring error: a decade was shaved off his birth year. My stepmother was understandably upset. I found it amusing I think my dad would have, too.

So by my reasoning, if my dad was 10 years younger, I should be, too. The third generation can keep their actual ages, since 10 years would make a pretty huge difference to them. Ditto my youngest sister, since going from 16 to 6 would be dramatic. But for the rest of my sisters and brothers by my dad, congratulations.

So, what am I going to do with my newfound decade? First off, I’m going to get my accounting certificate. Being a single mother with two jobs has made for some interesting tax questions, and I’ve learned a lot. I want to put that knowledge to good use.

Once the pandemic ends, I do plan to explore dating. Slowly, and carefully. To the few guys who thought I looked great until they learned my age, sorry, you don’t get a do-over.

And I have a five-year-plan for my finances, and the extra decade will be useful there, too.

Even though my panic attacks have stopped and anxiety attacks are less frequent, I am going to get some help for those. Because my chronological age has nothing to do with why a small setback takes my mind back to more difficult times, and my responses are, therefore, messed up. I am getting better at recognizing this after the fact, but I need help fixing it. Because trauma doesn’t have an age, or an expiration date.

So thanks, Dad. Even if it was a simple typo on a form, your lost decade is a blessing. Rest in peace.