According to my birth certificate I was born just a few
minutes shy of midnight on January 6th and as the clock ticks closer it seems
only befitting that I write this as I officially turn I 25. We have had a lot
to celebrate not just these past few days but these past few years. Every day I
marvel in the tiny blessings. They keep me grounded when occasionally life’s
howling winds want to test how I bend.
I was schooled pretty early on about Murphy’s law and
disappointment and somewhere along the way it made me a bit of a pessimist. At
25, I just wish I could write a letter to my 15-year-old self and let her know
that it works out more beautifully than a teenage imagination could dream
up.
It took me awhile to invite happiness into my life. Which
sounds so strange to say but it is true. For a long time I was deeply skeptical
and leery of good fortune, always asking:
“what’s the catch?” I can’t recall for sure when that changed, it wasn’t
like a light switch went on and one day I tossed on some rose-colored glasses.
But I will say I owe a lot to these two:
But I will say I owe a lot to these two:
At 25-years-old I have a life that I truly love. Yes, even the parts that are exhausting and make me want to pull my hair out. I am at a point where I look forward to what the day brings me. And perhaps what I would really tell my 15-year-old self is the same thing I would tell my 25-year-old self: Just wait, it gets better.
