This has been a weird week. I’ve cried a few times. I’ve laughed loudly and hard. I’ve tried to take care of my loved ones. And I’ve gotten frustrated and taken that out on my loved ones. I’ve been tired and lazy and productive. I’ve wondered ‘Why me?!’ and also looked at the changing trees and thought, ‘How amazing!’
It’s been a weird week, and on top of all that, I always get pensive on my birthday.
32 is not a milestone number. We had a quiet weekend, capped with a dinner out with my mom and dad. When I was 16, I’d have told you that 32 is old. But as I sit here, 32 years (plus a day) of living, I don’t feel old at all. I don’t even think I look old. Is that vain? It just feels honest.
Yeah, my back hurts. I’m tired 98% of the time. I use an under-eye cream. But I’m finding my thirties to be incredibly comfortable.
My skin has cleared up. I know how to treat and love others much better than I did ten years ago. I have K and M in my life. I don’t pick fights with my parents (15 year old me would be shocked). I drink more water than I ever have before- though still not enough. I enjoy busy days and slow days, read books to relax, and never feel bad about getting ice cream.
My thirties are really quite comfortable, and I’m grateful for that.
Then again, I have things I’d like to accomplish. I still don’t have the little hobby farm of my dreams. I need to workout
consistently at all. And I swear, someday I WILL wake up early and have a morning routine. I’m still bound and determined to write a novel, too.
But for now, I’m feeling very grateful to be where I am and who I am. And this contentedness is the best birthday present a girl could ask for. (…but the Hamilton tix K got me are a close second!)