One of Georges' sisters taught me a very creative way to camouflage express one's age when one is "of a certain age". Instead of saying, for instance "J'ai quarante-huit ans" if you were 48 years old, you would just say "J'ai t'huit ans." (Zjhay tweet ahn) And then let 'em guess what that's supposed to mean. The "tweet" part is the normal liaison in French when you say the numbers 28, 38, 48, 58 and 68: vingt-huit, trente-huit, etc. (If you don't care about knowing any French, you can just take my word for it and don't agonize about how to say it.)
T'huit ans is useful, no matter what your actual age might be, when you just feel like it's nobody's business how old you are. Staring down a milestone like 30, 40, 50 or 60? You, too, can be just t'huit ans. 29? 39? 49? T'huit ans sounds better. Getting up there in the 70s or 80s or higher? T'huit ans, baby, t'huit ans. And I'm not talking about Twitter.
I'm using t'huit ans today, though, not because I care to hide my age (although at 52 I'm feeling more t'huit ans-ish every year) but because I'm celebrating my 8th blogiversary!
That's right -- The Bold Soul™ is 8 years old today! We're t'huit ans, you and me!
In my very first post 8 years ago today, I talked about what being bold meant to me and how I was planning to live more boldly by fulfilling my dream to come to Paris and write. Now the book about that story of those first two years in France is nearly finished and I'm working on getting it out in the world. My life looks a bit different now than I had imagined it then, but it's better and richer for having taken the risks and making those bold choices.
Eight years ago I started by telling 50 of my friends and colleagues that I had a blog. Today, I've had nearly 600,000 visitors.
If you've been around since that first year, I am humbled by your loyalty. If you've just joined us recently, I couldn't be happier to welcome you. If you jumped in somewhere in the middle, I hope you're continuing to enjoy the journey. And to all my readers, past, present and future, wherever you are and however you ended up here, I am grateful for your interest in ways words can never really express.
A very special merci to my darling Georges, for giving me the best chapters of my life and for bringing your wonderful children into the story (sometimes the best surprises are the things you didn't even know you wanted until they're given to you).
Now, on to NINE!