Forty-one feels quieter than forty. Last year the number itself gave me something to think about. This year I’m more interested in what I’m like to be around on an ordinary day.

I can be impatient when I’m tired. A question I’d happily answer in the morning can feel like one more thing by the end of the day. My family deserves the chance to ask it anyway. I want to get better at taking a breath and answering the question they actually asked. And when I get it wrong, I want to be quicker to say, “I was short with you. I’m sorry.”

The hardest part of saying I’m sorry is leaving the explanation for later. I can explain why I was tired or what else was on my mind. That may all be true, and the other person still had to hear the way I spoke to them. I want to be able to own my part in one sentence and leave enough quiet for them to tell me how it felt.

There’s also something I can do before I get to that point. When I’m walking into the house with my mind still on the day, I can take a moment to get settled before jumping into the next conversation. A glass of water and a minute to breathe won’t solve everything. They might be enough to help me hear a question as a question.

Part of getting older, for me, is being able to see that habit clearly enough to do something about it. I hope my kids grow up comfortable admitting when they’ve gotten something wrong. I can give them practice hearing it from me first.