Last week I turned thirty-six, and although it’s not traditionally considered one of the BIG birthdays, isn’t every birthday big and important? A few days leading up to my birthday, a wave of nostalgia hits me. I look at photos from past 365 days and try to remember all that I accomplished, all of the good times, and all of the rotten ones. I sit down at the island in my kitchen and write about it in my notebook. I set up goals for the next year and try to honest with myself about my wants and needs.

Year thirty-five was a hard reset for my mental and physical health, for getting rid of ideas that no longer served me, and for figuring out what and who actually mattered to me. I worked with a therapist on my OCD (Exposure Therapy is not for the weak), put a lot of my energy into my day job while trying to write, edit, and query my manuscript. The rejections hurt, and several times I became so overwhelmed that I wanted to quit.

Instead of quitting I tried a bunch of other things. I created Wattpad and Substack accounts and eventually deleted both since neither felt like the right space for me. I tried to be more active on social media and spent too much time on Instagram and Threads comparing my writing journey to others. I almost deleted my website and blog but then remembered how happy it made me to post on here. I remembered how little pressure I felt because no one really reads it and I thought, should I go back to my blogging era?

If you’re reading this, the answer is yes. I have no idea what year thirty-six will bring or if I’ll accomplish any of my goals. I didn’t even make a wish when I blew out my candles. I put too much pressure on myself with these goals and wishes and lists, and I’ve decided that the best thing for me to do is take it day by day.

xo Vanessa