Number Twenty Nine

A certain someone had a birthday on Tuesday. In case I've lost you already, that certain someone would be me, the girl who is trying to demolish what's left of her birthday cake right at this very instant. I'm already two pieces in and my only justification for going for that third piece is that the quicker I can get this thing eaten, the quicker it will be out of my house so I won't be tempted anymore. I'm pretty sure that makes no sense whatsoever, but it's two days after my birthday so we're just going to go with it. 

Despite being stuck behind a desk for the majority of it (although getting birthday treats from co-workers helped a lot), I had such a good day spending it with Todd and my mom and of course Charley who, surprisingly enough, didn't seem all that excited that it was my birthday until she found out that there was cake involved. My three year old nephew who lives in Toronto was pretty much on par with her though because after he sang happy birthday to me over FaceTime (which was the sweetest thing ever), the only thing he was interested in was seeing my cake over and over again. In fact, I think the conversation ended with me promising him a full cake when he comes to visit me again. Words I'm sure my sister loved to hear!

Moving on from all of that cake talk (and soon hopefully eating), let's talk about the new number that obviously came along with my birthday too, which would be number twenty nine. It's funny because looking back to when I was younger, I honestly don't recall ever having any mental notes on where I would be, or I guess where I thought I would be, at this stage of my life, or any other stage for that matter.

Maybe my memory isn't working very well right now, you know, in my old age (#badjoke?), but that picture or that checklist that a lot of people often map out throughout the younger part of their life seems to be non-existent in mine. I feel like the only thing that my younger self (or at least my university self) would have assumed is that by now I'd have figured out what I wanted to do with my life, career wise, and I'd obviously be working. One out of two ain't bad, right? As for marriage, kids, or any of that other white picket fence checklist stuff occurring by a certain age, my mind is drawing a blank. Which is perfectly fine by me and probably a good thing because, as we all know, nine point nine times out of ten, life never goes the way you think it's going to, no matter how many of those colourful pictures you draw so carefully in your head over the years.

But, hearing that number, twenty nine, I can't help but feel a little kick knowing that this is my last year in my twenties. Not a, "oh I want to accomplish this by thirty", or "this is where I want to be by thirty" type of kick, but a "time really is moving fast so make sure you soak it all in" type of kick. That number isn't frightening me or scaring me, it's motivating me to keep trying. To keep trying to be my best. To keep trying to not worry so much about the bullshit that I spend longer than I should worrying about. To keep trying to do what I enjoy the most, but to also keep trying to step out of my comfort zone and shake things up every once in a while. And most importantly, to keep trying to have as much friggen fun as I possibly can along the way.

While we all should remember those things every. single. day, sometimes we all just need a little reminder every once in a while. And sometimes that reminder just so happens to come along with a brand new number.  Number twenty nine. 

post signature