This is 35.
I was greeted at work with the sweetest sentiments of birthday wishes yesterday, complete with gourmet cupcakes (Earl Grey with Blood Orange, Caramel Latte, and German Chocolate – nom, nom!) and a card covered in the signatures of my incredible co-workers and grad students.
Then my boss asked me how I felt about my birthday.
“Are you happy? Stressed?”
I paused for a beat or two to think. Thirty-five feels like a mouth full of marbles. It doesn’t roll off the tongue well when I consider my biological age… especially when my brain feels more like maybe twenty-seven.
“How do I feel? Actually, I’m pretty happy. Turning thirty-five doesn’t exactly make me happy – haha!
But overall, I really am happy.”
And there you have it, the most shocking statement of 2018 (yea, I know we’re only 11 days in)!
Honestly, the words sounded foreign and stupendously exciting all at once as I spoke them.
For someone who has recently been put through the paces, battling within the dark recesses of her mind; being pulled in two directions at once by anxiety and depression, being happy, or more accurately joyful, seemed like a victory of epic proportions.
2017 wasn’t a particularly good year for a lot of people. There were more natural disasters than I desire to count, and my own world endured its own form of disaster through various circumstances from my previous job.
You probably encountered some less-than-desirable circumstances in the last 365 day spin around the Sun. I hate that for you! But I also congratulate you for making it. Sure, you’re probably still experiencing the ripples of what occurred, and there are likely wounded that still need to be healed, but you made it through.
I made it through.
Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5
It’s a new day, a new year, and joy is here waiting for you to come grab ahold of it.
Joy. So this is 35.