On Growing Older

On Growing Older

Morning Musing

by Katie Kime

In February, I turned 40. In the days leading up to my birthday, I was surprised by how reflective and emotional I felt. The last ten years were so incredibly good and so incredibly difficult that there’s been this coalescent flood of memories (and tears) as I looked back.


I found my true companion (in the most possible of Marc Cohn ways) and lost unbelievably close family members. I became a mom to four in different ways—both biologically and not (but in some definition I haven’t yet found), both overnight and in agonizing wait. I built this business while learning, then making mistakes, then succeeding. That formula, on repeat. I traveled to more countries than I can count, expanding with every mile, which has always been and continues to be my greatest longing.


I went back to school for a master's in journalism. I spent six years doing IVF, and things happened to my body and brain that I didn’t know were possible. I hosted 100 parties and renovated our house nearly that many times, and aforementioned true companion may still consider divorce because of it.


As I ponder aging, I am not remotely enlightened beyond our culture (which is what, on my good days, I know the viscous veil of perfection to be). I’d like that collagen back in my cheeks, and if I’m honest, what I want more is the return of my melanin. (Truly, is it a thing with age that once dark, olive skin becomes ghostly white?)


And yet I feel the true privilege—and that’s the only word—of aging more than I ever have. I think of the (increasing) stories I hear of young mothers losing a battle to cancer and saying goodbye to small children. How astonishingly absurd sagging skin becomes in the right light.


Our team talks a lot about paradox and holding tension. Yes, revenue and also expression. Yes, learning from industry experts and also doing it a totally different way. The last decade seems to echo a similar sentiment: that paradox may be the truest nature of reality I’ve yet to grasp.


And so, on this last day of what was a doozy of a decade, I say holy sh*t and thank you, God. Grief and gratitude.


And print on print forever.