I turned 35 last week, though many of my classmates don’t believe I am as old as I say I am. Apparently I don’t look 35, though I’m not sure what that means.
What I do know is that I don’t feel 35, though I certainly don’t feel 25 any more either. I have lived so much life in the last 10 years. I have spent a lot of time becoming who I really am. Particularly since who I am now and who I thought I would be in my teens and 20s is so very different.
A decade ago I went from being sure I would never get married and have children to knowing that I had to marry Joe.
A decade ago I thought I had all sorts of things figured out that I know now will never be figured out. A decade ago I was so self righteous.
I’d like to think I’m not quite that now, though I know what I believe and why. A decade ago I was missing a lot of the why.
Now I know what and who is worth it and what and who is not.
I am unashamed of who I am, what I believe, that things I love.
Yeah, I have a Muppet tattoo. I have Justin Bieber in my music library. I wear Converse sneakers to fancy events. I finally got rid of all the heels I own because really, that’s just not comfortable for me.
Because I’ve tried other ways and they don’t work for me.
Joe and I? We’re the right setting of adult for us. We fight back when it’s important and let other things slide. We are spending our lives learning and now we have a kid who will do the same.
And I sometimes think raising this fantastic kid will be the best thing I do, and 35-year-old me is just fine with that.