Not nearly there

For the very few who know me, it won’t come as a surprise that I’ve been struggling with birthday nostalgia since the month started. Every year it gets worse, but in a way, it also gets better.

Ever since I turned 26, year after year I get anxious about the things I haven’t yet accomplished and the fact that I now have officially one year less to do so. I know it’s stupid, I know—especially when a big part of me is still trying to figure out what those “things” are. The thoughts are a bit like this, though:  I always said if I were to have a kid, it’d have to happen by the time I was 30, not later; I also used to think I’d have my career figured out by my 28th birthday so I’d have one or two years to really establish a rapport at work and thinking of babies would make sense and timing would feel just right. I got married at 27, so by that time, “things” still looked pretty attainable to me, but I’m an idealist.

Having moved a few thousand miles from home and half a year into my new life, I realized that I needed to reinvent the career life of the puzzle and I went on this path of self discovery, that I didn’t even know was possible. I now find myself here. In many ways grateful for where it has taken me and excited for what is to come, but—I won’t deny it—struggling more than ever to let go of the self expectation of what my life was supposed to be at my 31 years. Nothing like it is now. Nothing.

After recognizing where I’m at, I’m approaching my new age with a minimal mindset. I do not want to carry all the expectations and the baggage of a life that isn’t. I want to push forward into the unexpected, because I choose to, really.

With that in mind, I created a visual, somewhat abstract, set of images that make me think of the contrasts I’ve experienced this last year.

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