Hannah gets it.
You are not what you have done.
Not all people are jerks.
All three of my nieces’ birthdays are coming up soon. I’ll be thirty in August. Can you believe it? I’m already celebrating that I did it. I made it.
More people than should go batty about getting older. Expecially when they hit a “decade” milestone. I don’t know who made up these up birthdays in the first place, I’m sure they had good intentions. But they are kind of rude and a bad idea. All they do is remind you that you are getting older, and closer to expiration so you gotta panic about it and question your entire life. While for some this can end up being a good thing, it can mean liberation and finally getting the right perspective. I generally think that it’s kind of rude and there are better ways to go about it. We all know that our lives pass in the flicker of a moment. I don’t need a reminder of that every fucking birthday. I’m not worried about me, I can rock the hell out of any age. But as I get older, so do the people I love. And I just can’t bear the idea of loosing somebody them. I live in dread of it.
What I don’t need also, is for anybody to try to shame me because I’m not at the place that they expect (marriage, children, wake up work and die). Not that marriage and children are bad, totally fits for some people. But maybe that is phony for me. Maybe I’m living my own fucking dream.
Anyway, I’m already embracing my thirtieth birthday. I kinda like being an older chick. I dig the wisdom that comes with it, I feel like the Catcher in the Rye. I like people watching, always have, I think it’s fascinating in general. But I’m looking forward to looking at people way younger than me, and smiling to myself like a wizard when I spot that they like something cool, something I do too, something that means something. It means they get it. The torch is passed. It never burns out because it’s eternal. That seems so peaceful and satisfying to me.
That and my memories. People always complain I post too much, I say too much, I put up too many pictures, blah blah blah blah. But what they don’t realize is it’s not for THEM. I don’t give a shit about money or things, I collect moments. Memories. What they don’t realize is while they are bitching away about me social media-ing the shit out of my life, I’ve just made a permanent scrapbook of my life. Nothing you put on the internet is ever really gone. I’ve already started printing it all. So when I’m SUPER old, I’ll have those books to cherish if I ever feel alone. All my beloved memories with me.
I have made some godawful choices in my life, but I don’t regret a fucking thing. It’s my masterpiece, sometimes a shit parade, but mine nonetheless – I wouldn’t take back a single second.