They only want you when you’re 17; when you’re 21 31, you’re no fun.

I have gone and turned 31. It's not really a bad age; 30 was an amazing year for me. A lot of what I set out to do this year, I have accomplished, and I feel at peace with my successes. I am content that the motivation I felt will not diminish after this new number is added after that 3.

Unfortunately for everyone around me, I hate what I'm doing, not the work so much as the accountability and responsibility. My job is nowhere near what I thought I would be doing, but I love my
office, the people who work with me and ultimately, what I am being
paid for my services. BUT I'm just stressed out until all hours even after I leave the office. It's repulsive to me that in my 30s, I still do not have a job with any sort of medical coverage (and I cannot self-sustain with the budget I created), or any additional benefits, save for a week of vacation.

My mood swings last for days and usually end with anger tantrums or sobbing uncontrollably. I've tried to divest this energy into bike riding, taking long walks with the dog, punching the side of the house — it doesn't work. My comfortable extroverted nature has left for nights in solitude, talking to the dog and crying over a good book.

I hate when I look in the mirror that my face looks older, that the
powder folds into creases under my eyes now, and that it takes
seventeen different applications to cover the circles underneath them.
I hate my pores have stretched on my skin, opening up the world to my
former acne scars, and that my face still is oily and ridden with
breakouts worse than when I was a teenager. I hate that I've wasted
good hard-earned money on every single skincare line that exists, to no avail. My ass is better than ever though (maybe because I finally have one).

I
fear the resiliency I acquired while tending to myself for years has
depleted. I go to bed at night, and have frequent bouts of insomnia, but have a
consistent and overwhelming bouts of defeat. I tell the dog that "one day I won't have to leave you" when I'm walking out the door, wishing I could work from home in my jammies and fuzzy slippers.

I find it harder and harder to leave my bed every. single. morning. Except for today.

Today, I changed directions. I drove a new route to work. I grabbed a free "Bou Day" white mocha at Caribou in La Place. I drove the speed limit. I wasn't in a rush to get to a place I loathe, but just arrived in style — looking and feeling good. I noticed how green the grass was in the medians, how bloomy the trees were hanging into Fairmount Boulevard. I wasn't even nervous for all the cars in the traffic circle. Maybe it was the great night of sleep, maybe it was the cute birthday note left on the kitchen table, maybe it was the mini-van that parked too close to my SUV that made me thankful I was thin enough to squeeze in between the vehicles. Maybe because all those Papa John's characters made me feel blessed in all the things I do have. Maybe it's because my boss is on vacation. *smile*

Maybe I've finally broke free from looking at all these things around me in a miserable or non-existing state and have accepted this transition as something… happy. I woke up this morning feeling refreshed, content, loved… and so unbelievably happy.

Here's to another birthday — a new year of breathing life into myself.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.