Turning 35

Black and White self portrait

I just got the sudden urge to write it all down before it fades into oblivion. What has changed in five years and what have I accomplished? Am I happy? Am I fulfilled? Am I living?

Turning 35 fells like somehow more of a milestone than turning 30. When I turned thirty, I felt like I was on top of the world. I had actually achieved the goals I set out for myself in the 20s, I felt confident, strong and I didn’t give a fuck about what anyone else thought.

The person writing at this very moment is incredibly nervous, insecure, anxious, and even picked up smoking briefly. I have developed obsessive thoughts and a few OCD behaviours. I overeat and fall into depression over it, and I procrastinate. Makes me so sad to to actually write this, because I have been avoiding actually confronting it for a while. The worst part is I care what people think about me. I care what some people I don’t care about think about me. That’s worse. I’ve tied my self-worth to a job that has been making me both excited and miserable lately.

It’s easy to fall in a pit of self-pity and self-loathing. It’s easy to just give up and accept defeat. It’s easy to let others make me feel small and insecure. But it’s not right. I don’t want to stay here. I want to climb out and recognize the amazing life I am actually living. And it is pretty fucking amazing – the sunrises, the sunsets, the fog in the mornings, the starry ski at night, the fireplace on a cold winter evening, the kids, the plants, the laughter and so much more. And now I’m smiling. Welcome 35. I’m ready.