Today is my birthday, and I am happy. I haven’t spent the days leading up to today angsting about getting older, or whether I’ve done anything meaningful with my life, or whether I’m ever going to do anything meaningful. I haven’t stressed (too much) about whether I’m celebrating the “right” way or celebrating the “right” things.
Instead, I had dinner with my fiancee at one of our favorite restaurants, opened the gifts that my parents shipped me, and talked to my sister on the phone for the first time in ages. I took some time here and there to appreciate how much better things have gotten since my last birthday, and reflect on the changes I’ve made.
This time last year I was unemployed, job hunting frantically and stressing about money. I was working as many side jobs as I could manage, hustling from interview to interview with fingers crossed. I was suffering from a massive crisis of confidence, and because of it, I wasn’t writing. I had a hard time letting go of my worries long enough to enjoy my birthday at all.
This year, I’m working. I found a new job that I like so much more than I would’ve guessed, and even when emergencies come up–like one did today–I get through them. I’m not writing right now, but I’m not stressing about it either. I’m still working away at my stories, and I know I’ll be ready to take the leap and start something new soon. In the meantime, I’m gearing up for an old friend’s wedding, which is taking place in less than a month. I’m beginning to tackle my holiday shopping. I’m looking forward, not backward.
My fiancee is turning thirty this year, which is a much bigger milestone than me turning twenty-eight, and when I asked him how he felt about it, he shrugged. “It’s just a number,” he said, and he’s right. Which is why I’m trying to focus more on the memories I’ve made in the past year and the ways that I’ve grown than I am on my age.
If today is any indication, I’m off to a pretty good start.