(or That Makes 34)
Last year, I wrote about how excited I was to be turning 33, and how I’d learned to give up on the idea that I had to be at a certain point by a certain age. While I still agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t already feeling nostalgic about 33.
First of all, as I mentioned in last year’s post, I have a weird love for the 3. Thirty-four just doesn’t have that same ring to it. Plus, this year was filled with a ton of wonderful memories and accomplishments: I won an award at work that came with the trip of a lifetime that I got to share with one of my very best friends; I made some great strides in my mental health; and I just generally felt more like me than I have in years.
I spent this weekend celebrating my birthday early by doing some of my favourite things with some of my favourite people. All weekend long, my heart felt full and I was so grateful that I’m lucky enough to have such amazing friends. Now that the weekend is over, my face actually hurts from smiling and laughing so much. And that’s not even the end of the celebrations! I still get to eat cupcakes with my coworkers, watch one of my favourite movies with one of my oldest bffs, and have a triple-birthday/Thanksgiving hybrid with my parents (we celebrate all three birthdays because we’re all within a week of each other).
I used to be afraid that this happiness was fleeting, and that experiencing it would just set me up to fall that much harder when it was taken away. I guess I was half right… nothing, not even happiness (unfortunately) can last forever. We’re all going to go through some shit over the course of our lives. The second part, though, was completely backwards. It’s not the highs that make the lows hurt more; it’s that the lows make the highs even lovelier.
I’m sure that 34 will have its challenges, just like every other year has. But I’m also pretty excited to keep working away at my goals and collecting memories of big events and small joys.