This week I’m saying goodbye to 26. Birthdays always make me nostalgic, always make me think back on what the past year of life held. This year, I’m realizing I’m not too sad to see 26 go. I’m realizing I wasn’t the biggest fan.
26 was when life got overwhelming. Life felt like it was heading one way and it suddenly, jarringly, changed directions. It felt like in so many areas of life I kept hitting this impenetrable wall. In so many areas I was spinning plates while treading water while trying to put out various fires.
26 was when I started to question a lot. My current life, my potential future. What I wanted, what I needed. If I should come up with a new life plan. If I even needed to have a life plan.
26 was when friendships got rough. Easy, life-giving relationships all of a sudden started taking lot of effort. They started taking work. They started taking energy, in a season where I seemed to have so little of it. Read More
A year ago, I never thought I’d be back here. Going on three days of not sleeping, trying to figure out my hair’s newest texture – figuring out a new normal as my body and thyroid battle it out once again. A war I thought was over. Now a seemingly never ending battle.
My dad got para-thyroid surgery a few weeks ago. Soon we’ll have matching scars on our neck; our health problems slightly different while our age of diagnosis makes all the difference. This holiday season I realized you can be mad about the disease or thankful for the medicine. Mad about the genetic lottery you seemingly lost or thankful for winning some kind of birthright lottery that landed you in a country with modern technology. Mad over what feels unfairly taken or thankful over what feels unfairly given. Read More
I lost a lot of weight this year.
Which feels funny to type, as it’s currently the holiday season and my clothes are fitting a biiiiiit tight. It’s also a week after my birthday (I have a whole 7 days of being 25 under my belt!) and a few days after my party. And I’ve been reflecting on how different I’m feeling than this time last year.
24 started out rough for me. It’s been a healing year, thankfully. But the healing came after the pain – old wounds, reopened, in order to heal properly this time around. Sometimes the surgeons have to go back in, to re-fix the same old problem. Sometimes wounds get infected, without proper care. Sometimes the sickness just keeps coming back, no matter how many remedies you’ve tried. But the good news? Healing is possible. Healing is worth fighting for. Read More
The music was taking me back to another time, as music tends to do. Lyrics that hold so much hope, so much truth. Lyrics that shaped my middle school angst, my high school worries. Lyrics that hold more memories than I know what to do with. They were all coming flooding back as Relient K and Switchfoot switched from new stuff to old stuff to really old stuff to the somewhat new stuff. It took me on the sweetest trip down memory lane, but it also reminded me how much words matter. How much artists putting words to feelings matter. How much these specific words have mattered to me, in different seasons of life.
It was four days before my 25th birthday – the tickets a birthday present from my brother. 25 is a strange year, as you’re a legitimate adult now and should probably know and do lots of adult-y things… and yet you’re kinda just making it up as you go (I hear most of adulthood is like this, I’ll keep you posted). You feel a little on the young side still – you aren’t 30, after all. But you feel a little on the old side – it only takes 20 minutes with 20 years olds to make me crave an 8:00pm bed time.
I haven’t been dreading turning 25 at all – I think life is a gift and another year older is never something to complain about. But I have been feeling this upcoming birthday. 25. Quarter of a century. Halfway to 50. It’s been drawing near and I can’t help but start asking questions. Is this it? Am I doing it right? Should I change anything?
In the midst of these questions, seven days before my birthday the unthinkable happened. The week leading up to my birthday was a strange twilight zone: a time warp of memories of my youth and proof that I’ve aged, dreaming big dreams and settling for lower standards, so much celebrating and so much mourning. Read More
24 has been my favorite number since before I can remember – always finding its way onto my softball jerseys or into my screen names growing up. 24 is one of the best TV shows to grace our generation (…and make us wish David Palmer could actually run for president). 24 is a fantastic Switchfoot song. And, as of yesterday, 24 is how old I am.
That feels so surreal. I can’t possibly be 24 – that seems far too old for the girl who still eats cheerios for dinner, for the girl who refuses to pay for matching furniture. 24 is officially “mid-twenties”; at least when I was 23 I could argue that I was still in my early twenties. I had an excuse for my actions. At 24, there’s no fighting it – I’m in my mid-twenties and should probably be meal prepping or whatever adults these days are doing. Is that what adults these days are doing?? That’s the lack of 24-level-maturity I have. Read More