I turned 35. It feels like a milestone and I should have all these thoughts and feelings, but I really only had one: I’m not where I thought I’d be by now. I’ve had this thought before at different milestones in my life and I’m used to it. That feels like it’s both a good thing and a bad thing.
On one hand, this thought doesn’t have the same negative impact it once did. It doesn’t make me feel like a failure or like a lost child. I know life doesn’t always turn out how you thought it would or planned it would. Your hard work doesn’t always bring you to your ideal destination. That’s life. That’s the journey we all take, and it’s okay.
On the other hand, I don’t want to be complacent, shrug my shoulders, or give up. I don’t want to look in the mirror and say, “This is as good as it’s gonna get.” That feels like defeat. That feels hopeless. That feels like giving up on my story that isn’t over yet.
35. I’m not where I thought I’d be by now, and that’s okay. My story isn’t over yet ‘cause I’m still alive.
