I don’t do good with birthdays.
Never have. Probably never will.
My parents like to tell stories about my childhood birthdays: stories about how each and every one of my parties ended with me as an absolute wreck, tears galore. I’m pretty sure that’s why they stopped hosting them when I turned twelve. Turns out I’m better suited to marking the passage of time in a more subtle manner.
For some indescribable reason, birthday’s are just emotional. When my husband and I first started dating, I was 18 and he was 20. I laughed at him, saying, “In ten years you’re going to be thirty!” And then I turned twenty and the joke was on me. And here I am, six years later, that magical “thirty” looming ever closer. I am “deep in the 2’s” and it’s all downhill from here.
Except it’s really not. That’s just my “not-so-good with birthdays” attitude rearing it’s ugly little head.
The truth is, each passing year chips away at my insecurities and doubts, revealing a better, stronger, more confident version of myself. And I like that. These past few years have been tough: I’m entering twenty-six feeling like a well-worn pair of jeans, a bit faded, a bit torn, but comfortable and loved nonetheless. But hey, ripped jeans are in, right?
So here’s to twenty-six: a year that will undoubtedly be overflowing with the fullness of life and all its delicate intricacies. A year with growth that may be hard-earned but never trivial.
A year to live louder. Bolder. More passionately. And a year to speak truth, always.
A year to invest in the brilliance that comes with walking life together; bound by community and the sharing and celebrating of heartaches and joys.
A year to love and to cherish and to build.
A year to savour. To wait. To trust.
This year’s potentials and pot-holes mingle together to create a journey that isn’t always easy or smooth, but is constantly polishing and shaping. In ten years, I’ll look back on the preceding decade with the laughter of someone who knows so much more — but today, I’m neither rushing nor reminiscing. This year offers so much of its own.
So for better, for worse, or for some where in-between: twenty-six, here I come. 🙂