Today, I turned thirty-two. An age that felt so old when I was in my late teens and early twenties. I remember watching my older cousins celebrate their 30th birthdays in shock – how could they be so old? I remember thinking about all of the years I had until I reached their age, how much time I had to enjoy my youth and take chances. When they would tell me that time goes by fast, I would laugh – how fast could it go?!

I assume my neck aches and back pains are from the whiplash of my twenties; flashing by in a hazy blur. I know that thirty-two isn’t old. I know that I’m still young but with every passing birthday I fear that I’m running out of time. I look back on the previous year and end up feeling like I’ve wasted another 365 days. I didn’t take enough chances or use my time wisely. I read over the writing I’ve done and get mad at myself for not writing more, doing more, being more.

This year, instead of looking at what I haven’t done, I’m looking at what I’ve been able to accomplish during the 365 days of a pandemic. I’m looking at the number of books I’ve read, the chances I’ve taken and the breakthroughs I’ve made. My biggest goal for thirty-two is to continue to do things that scare me. Things like going to auditions or starting therapy or writing more personal posts, then giving myself grace when or if they don’t work out. This year I will be kinder to myself and to others.

Here’s to thirty-two!