… all your sentences start with: "my yoga teacher, my PT or my therapist says..."

"Age is just a number", a young wake boarder recently told me as I tried to brace the impact of the surprise when I learned that he was only 23 and had already won dozens of competitions. "Let's talk again when you're 30", I said...

I don't worry about age and I openly disclose mine. Age is a number... but an odd one... not in the mathematical sense of the word. Often times, people don't feel or look their age.

When people ask me how old I am, I always pause and try to remember... What is the number that comes after 30? It isn't fair to count the number of years. I prefer to count the gray hair instead! I am a hundred gray hair and a dozen of expression lines...

My twenties were many things: fun, crazy, confusing and bumpy... but I made my way through the journey surrounded by friends who were always there to offer advice… that I rarely listened to…

And then I stepped into my thirties with confidence… I didn’t regret not taking any of the advices because those same friends were actually seeking advice themselves. And so we all made new friends…

1. The Yoga Instructor: All roads lead to Xanax… we know that for sure. But in the meantime and before rushing into becoming drug addicts, we sign up for yoga classes with the hope to release the daily stress. I spent hours trying to “find my center”, “find my core”, “root myself”, “listen to my breath”, “set my intentions”… But in between downward-facing dog and shoulder stand poses, the only intention I could set is to find a good spot close to the yoga studio and binge drink while remembering to breathe.

2. The PT: I made fun of the new personal trainer trend... but in addition to the gray hair, my thirties brought me some extra kilos that my thirty-year old metabolism wasn’t able to burn alone. And so I gave in and I signed up for a PT… but it seems that my metabolism is as adamant as I was in my twenties. And my PT’s abs weren’t exactly helping in regulating my appetite.

3.  The Therapist: Some like to call it life coach, because seeing a shrink will automatically label you as a mentally disturbed person. Let’s be honest: we all have issues… I myself have more issues than Vogue magazine… but if you’re still uncomfortable going to a shrink, think of the therapist as a friend that you pay to give you their undivided attention and time and perhaps a wise advice… things that traditional friends cannot give you because they are too overwhelmed with their own issues.