It’s my last day being 33 and for the first time, I feel the Eve of my born day deserves reflection and remark.
I liked 33. It was a good year. Though it had its difficulties, its setbacks, and failures, it was a year where I felt most me. I felt freer from my past and more connected to my future than ever before. I felt older, but not old. I felt sure and content and good.
I don’t know what 34 will bring. I don’t like to plan for the age the way I do for the year. I don’t want to make all aspects of my life, my seasons and cycles, into ones measured by pure productivity alone. Birthdays aren’t celebrations of what you accomplished, the are celebrations of your coming into existence and living against odds too narrow to even imagine.
This year, and every year going forward, for my birthday I just want to be grateful that I am here and to hope with all my heart to continue to be so for at least one more trip around the sun.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
These entries are inspired by Thord D. Hedengren