There’s something quietly seismic about turning 44. Not dramatic like 30.
Not culturally loaded like 40.
But 44 feels… reflective. Honest. Unfiltered. For me, this birthday hasn’t come wrapped in glitter or grand declarations. It arrived with questions. With warmth. With a few tears. With deep gratitude. And yes — with a whisper of “Is this enough?” Welcome to midlife. Not a crisis — a reckoning. A becoming.   The Strange Beauty of Being 44 At 44, you are not who you were.
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