I turn a year older today, and as usual, birthdays put me in a pensive mode.

Turning a year older when you were younger was always an exciting affair. Who’ll remember my birthday? Am I going to get cake? Oooh, presents! Oh yes, party! Let the feasting begin!

But turning a year older when you are now older always makes you think about where you are in life, what you have done these few decades you’ve been living on earth, and how do you move on and age better from here.

At least that’s what I think about.

I take stock of the time I have wasted being immature and willful. I remind myself that I can improve as a human being and be better – in and at where I am. I tell myself that I am now 34, and for crying out loud, not 14 or 24 any more, and I’ve got to take responsibility for the words I say, the emotions I feel and the choices I have made. Which mostly means I need to lower my expectations when it comes to mothering my children, and increase the expectations I have of myself being a better mate, a better colleague, a better friend, a better daughter and a better human being.

Because time gets more precious from this point forward.

And most of all, on birthdays, I take some time making wishes. And every year, I wish for more of God and less of strife; more of plenty and less of lack; more of love and laughter in my home and heart; and to live for others more than myself.

I have done nothing to deserve this, but this year, I’ve received some of the best presents I ever had all the three decades of my life put together.