Thirty-seven years later, I’m still not sure what to make of my birthday.
As a mother, I know the grand significance of this day when my own mother straddled life and death and summoned love and strength to bring forth my life into this world.
Thirty-seven years later, sometimes I still feel like I’m in that limbo state, unsure if I have come to life just yet.
And yet here I am. Life is undeniable. Maybe it is because life is in the journey and the journey is in itself a limbo state?
Thirty-seven years later, I wish to recognize that limbo state while also moving towards emerging. I wish to become more alive this next year. To become more me. To follow my curiosities and inspirations. To fully embody my potential. To find much joy in simple things. To laugh. To be present with my kids. To develop friendships. To learn from people I respect. To support others on this path. To heal my inner child. To practice yoga.
Thirty-seven years later, I know I am nothing without the people in my life.
I most celebrate those who have touched and shaped me not only this past year but the thirty-six before. I celebrate those old friends, those who I have met in the last year, those who have supported me, those who I no longer can physically touch, those who bring me moments of joy, and especially for the person who brought me into this world.
Thirty-seven years later, all I know is love.
I write everyday because it allows me to voice what is at the surface. Once that is out of my head, I can dig in another layer deeper. My daily writing practice has been my greatest exploration of self and humanity. Sign up here to receive these thought nuggets in your inbox on the daily.