24 is the new content.Thursday, July 31, 2014
This time last year I was totally different person— as were most of the people who celebrated my birthday with me.
Frank and I went to Starbucks and the French bakery by my house to do a birthday photoshoot. It was sometime in that he got the phone call about starting the police academy that upcoming Monday. We celebrated with my parents and closest friends with a bottle of champagne, gorged ourselves on birthday cake and watching 21 Jump Street. I don’t remember laughing so much and feeling so content with my life.
Soon after everything changed: there were clashes at work with new people (and old), paychecks were held off causing sleepless nights and financial panic, home life became chock full of anxiety, Frank became unhappy and introverted, and I started getting very sad and angry. I stopped writing, I stopped talking about it, hoping that it would all stop or disappear. I had lost control of everything, couldn’t help anyone, and felt utterly hopeless. By February, I broke down completely.
23 was a very hard year. And while I feel like everything is just starting over now— 365 very long days later— at this very moment, I couldn’t be more content. Frank went back to Nestle— a job that he not only loves, but is fantastic at (and has the fan club to prove it). And I’ve started a whole new chapter in my life, working in something that is the closest I've ever gotten to my lifelong dream. My high school English teacher would be proud to know that, although I’m not the fashion magazine editor coming home to my boyfriend and eating pistachio ice cream in front of the TV that I wrote about being, these days reality does come pretty close.
I’ve also moved out (huuuge step), made new friends and come to terms with letting go of old ones. I’ve forgiven lots of people. And, most of all, I’ve begun working toward being happy again—this time, by myself. One thing that I didn’t have this past year was a support system (Frank can only do so much)— but I certainly didn’t have any inner strength either. I relied on so many people that I’d helped in the past to help me in my time of need—and learned very quickly that that is not how life works, even if you consider those people to be your best friends.
In all honesty, I forgot how important (and fantastic) it is to be alone. To do things that I want to do. To actually want to do things by myself. To put myself first and not surround myself with anything that makes me unhappy. It's hard after a year+ of worrying about other peoples' feelings, but I'm getting there.
And while I can swear that I was better or happier or nicer or more grounded or had everything figured out x number of birthdays ago, right now I’m okay with just being here— light-years away from where I was--alone, but far less lonely, and on my way to... wherever that is, exactly.