32

I wasn’t going to do a birthday post this year. Truly, I was dead-set against it. The post themselves are a lot of work, and can be somewhat repetitive from prior years. Who needs ‘em? Well, apparently I do. As I read over some of my previous birthday posts I felt that feeling - the words that are usually swimming dormant underneath my fingertips began humming, jumping, twisting, aching to be released.

Here I am, sitting at the edge of an anticlimactic 32, reflecting back on 31 and what it meant to me. I’ve approached these posts differently over the years - lists, memories, quotes, humor, advice, deep truths, casual revelations (see Dear Alex and 29 as recent-ish examples).

Turning thirty, I wrote a letter to my twenty-year old self (again, see above link to Dear Alex). Gosh, I had so much to say to her. Still do, honestly. We always do, don’t we? It’s easy to look back on our younger self and fondly, lovingly, criticize and compliment. “Oh sweetie, if you only knew. But you’re still young, you’ve got time.” It’s also easy to look out into the future - to romanticize a beautiful future version of ourselves: the Alex that finally has it all together. The Alex with a dream life, who’s checked off the goals, is admired by all. A completely fulfilled Alex. If I just do these things on my list here, I’ll be her. Check, check, check off that never-ending list.

I think the hardest version of ourselves to deal with is the version we are right now. I’m just too close to her. Too close to give her grace. Too close to forgive her. Too close to imagine she’ll overcome what she’s going through. I’m so close that all her flaws are magnified - I sit with them all day everyday and they are ugly. She’s always with me, she’s always around. I never get space. No rose-colored glasses. She’s always messing up, always pushing people away. She’s overdramatic, moody, too emotional, lazy, childish, an imposter, an overthinker. She’s not a good enough daughter, employee, boss, or friend. She should be better. She can be better! Past Alex didn’t know any better, future Alex will get it together, but today’s Alex? God, she can be so annoying.

In the past year, I’ve really become aware of how brutal this is. How exhausting. Why are we so conditioned to beat up on the person we should nurture the most? Why are we understanding with everyone else but ourselves? Why can’t I grant myself the understanding I so willingly give to past-Alex? Why can I grant myself the same space and time I so easily give up to future-Alex? I think there’s a lot to unpack here - and I could give it a good go. But I’m not a therapist and this is a birthday post after all. So, what I’m going to do instead is this: I’m going to write a love letter.

I’m going to do exactly what we’re taught not to do - I’m going to celebrate and honor all of the amazing things about me, as I am right now. I am tempted to write this to Alex, to create a bit of separation from my words. But that’s not the point of this. This is about me, today, loving me, today. And although everything inside me is aching to, I’m not going to add any disclaimers about all the things I still have to work on, all the growth I need to do. I commonly do this - you know, just to let everyone know I’m not trying to celebrate myself too much. Don’t want anyone thinking that I think too highly of myself, right? Gross. Best to tear myself down, right? Before they do. Right? … Right? HOW RIDICULOUS is this line of thinking? I should be the person who thinks the highest of myself.

XXXXX

I was born to the sun, a fire within, but I am drawn to the depths of the sea. I am a disco ball of broken glass, startling sharp edges, forever shining for and celebrating those who choose to dance. I am the heavy moodiness, the weight of the air before an impending storm. An electric undercurrent. I will not add sugar to soften my bite – I am dark chocolate, black coffee, a dirty martini. I’m the soft embarrassment and child-like hope you allow the moment you wish on a shooting star. I am the sea at its calmest & at its fiercest. I apologize for neither. I’m your lighthouse and your siren, sailors be warned. I am the feeling of your feet in a foreign place, the realization you have landed somewhere special. I have backbone. I have resilience. I have history. I have grit. I am fiercely loyal and will give you more of myself than you will ever give to me. I will put others feelings above my own - not always, but often. I can hold the weight of what you’re carrying, even if my knees buckle. I feel deeply, but have superhuman strength over other’s visibility to my true or full emotions. I will be your number one cheerleader and will push you to achieve your biggest goals. I will inspire you to do hard things - the things you think you can’t do. I will push myself to do the hard things - the things I think I can’t do. I am brave. I can do anything alone and rarely feel lonely.

I am happiest both on Sunday mornings, reading a book in my favorite coffee shop and on epic, thrilling adventures in foreign lands. I am finally, finally understanding that softness and strength are not opposites. I believe in the magic of the moon. I believe in the power of a woman - call it witchcraft. I believe in horoscopes and the power of the planets. Leos are obsessed with being Leos. I have a quick wit and sharp intelligence. I am not afraid to speak my mind. Words have power, and I can harness them better than most. I’m a chameleon, and can change instantly based on the energy in a room. I am a rare mix of strategy and storytelling - two things that make me very good at my job. I love things deeply and without apology: horror movies, cats, trips to Barnes and Noble. I love birthdays, both my own and others, because I don’t think people are celebrated enough individually. I am hard to surprise, but I love surprises.

All of this makes me special. I am a combination of moments, memories, and traits that cannot be replicated.

I carry a lot of scars. I like the way that sounds. I carry a lot of scars.

Access to me is a privilege. I swim with sharks.