I’m turning 29 next week. I might as well be thirty, since it’s the same thing. After you are twenty-five, you are basically thirty.
I find new gray hairs while examining a pimple. This doesn’t seem quite fair, but it is ironic in an Alanis Morissette kind of way.
I’m done with friendship and relationship drama. If you’re interested in getting mad or arguing over pettiness, I’m not interested in being around you.
All my arguing energy is reserved for The Love of My Life. I have a knack for turning minor disagreements and annoyances with my husband into hour-long battles (except for the two days before his birthday until his actual birthday).
I picture myself living inside a parenthesis that opened on our wedding day and will close when or if we have a baby. I am content living inside of this space. Amidst that content, there is the anticipation of closing the parenthesis and seeing what is on the other side.
I’m trying to be done with insecurity. I don’t wear mascara sometimes and often let my hair dry in messy waves/curls.
I am mature enough to own a first extinguisher and naïve enough not to have a will.
I’ve rediscovered the feeling of learning to walk. I draw a picture or play the piano, feeling timid and clumsy, then surprised and proud at a new accomplishment.
I’m still honoring the decade-old traditions of memorizing song lyrics, binge-watching TV series and killing houseplants.
Yes, I’ll hang in this delicious spot for awhile. Or at least for the next year. Peace.
How old are you? What are you experiencing now that is unique to this stage of your life?