Life at 46

Forty-six.

A number, yes.

But more—

a doorway.

A threshold.

I no longer measure myself

by who stayed or who left,

by what I lost,

or how many times I had to start over.

I am not what dissolved.

I am what remained.

I am what grew back.

At forty-six,

my story has changed its shape.

My marriage ended,

but my spirit expanded.

The house I once called home is gone,

but a new city now opens its arms to me.

I am no longer only a translator of words—

I am a writer of worlds,

offering what flows through me,

without apology.

I am more resourceful.

More awake to my own rhythms.

Gentler with my body.

Fiercer with my boundaries.

I am learning to look in the mirror

and whisper—

not with doubt but with knowing—

I am enough. I am worthy. I am light.

This city—new, uncharted—

will bring me those who want to see me shine.

Not because I beg for their gaze,

but because my light calls to theirs.

And the right ones will answer.

So this is forty-six.

Not an ending.

Not a decline.

But a blooming—

late, radiant, unstoppable.

And I welcome it all.

“Forty-six is not an ending, but a blooming.”

I am Gina Muresan