I added another year to my name yesterday. Twenty-six, and inching everyday closer to the ominous thirty, forty, fifity.

I kid, I joke. I revel in my accumulation of years. Every year, although bringing its own fair share of difficulties, seems to make me more secure, more at home, more at peace. I feel like I care increasingly more about the things that deserve my attention, and loosen my grip on the things that have so selfishly stolen my heart and mind for entirely too long, and do me no good.

But for the first time in, well, forever, I am a bit sad this birthday. Twenty-five was unequivocally a great year. Did we trudge through heaping piles of heartache and anger and disappointment? Yes. I only mean that this year, we had these luminescent markers along the way– pointing at this is why we do this, this is why we’re here. Have hope, keep moving, you are not alone.

There was our wedding, there was moving in together, cooking together, cleaning together, working together. There were weddings of closest friends, there were engagements, and there were trips– overnights and over the ocean. There were new jobs, new opportunities, new people. Good books, good food, and good music.

This is why we’re here, we are not alone. 

I’m so grateful for my twenty-fifth year. And if I have learned anything from these past twenty-five, is that it only gets better. I have so much to figure out, and I’m starting 2013, and the dawn of my twenty-sixth annual celebration, with a lot of heavy heavy questions. But I do not doubt: it is all movement, it is all growth, and it is all done together.


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