Last weekend I turned 28. It was really lovely, and John planned a whole weekend full of surprises, and I felt insanely lucky and loved and more and more like adulthood is yes, full of bills and obligations, but happier than childhood still.
27 was the first birthday I didn't get overly excited about. It didn't feel old, but it felt like that door had been opened. It was the first time that 30 felt close. I assumed 28 would feel the same, but a little worse. I'd be even older, and even further from that fresh-faced, idealistic youth I thought I should hold close. 30 brings a lot of questions - how long can you still go dancing? And what about short shorts? Is it time for fancy eye cream? Have you reached enough goals, is your career unfolding appropriately, do you know what's next?
28 doesn't feel as lackluster as 27 did. It feels a little smarter, a little more grounded. 28 has a few more fine lines, but those lines are experience. At some point this year, I stopped wanting to barter my experience for my youth. That's the difference in 28. The things I've learned are like little badges of honor on my face. I see their value, and though many questions remain unanswered, I try to stay present. Once this past year when I complained about looking older to my best friend, she said simply, "We're women now."
This year, I have a growing sense of gratitude for this opportunity to be an adult, create a legacy, make my own family. I see opportunities around me, all the time, to create light. I often fail miserably, but that's okay, because there will be many more chances. One third of my life may be over, but from it I take my partner, my dog, and my purpose, and I look ahead.
