#324; the countdown to dirty thirty

I feel like the closer we get to the July, and thus my 30th birthday, the more reflective and relaxed I become. This isn’t to say I’ve gotten “zen” about my lot in life or taken up yoga (which I’ve tried before but just has never been my niche), but I have gotten a bit better at rolling with the punches and taking things as they come.

I’ve been allowing myself more time to read, to sleep, and to see friends (though I still don’t have nearly enough time for any of those things even now). Next month I plan on celebrating the big three-oh with karaoke, my mom, cheap beer, and friends in Dorchester and I feel blessed. And yet, I still find moments of limbo. I still find there are times I feel like I can’t do anything right, or that I should be in a different place. I’m working at a restaurant full time, still scrabbling to keep my bipolar disorder and panic attacks in check, looking at my friends getting married, having babies, buying houses, succeeding in their careers. And I get into a darker place, a place where I don’t feel as blessed. Where I don’t feel as capable as my resume may say I am.

But really, am I my resume? Am I my day job? Are you those things in your life? I like to think not, and in those darker moments, I have to remind myself myself of this: NO. I’M NOT. I’m blessed with an incredible partner, a loving, fun family, a beautiful, cozy apartment in a wonderful and vibrant neighborhood. I have the time to read books that I love and learn how to cook. I’m learning how to bake for the first time in my life. I have great co-workers and hope of what will come next. I have awesome birthday plans for next month. I have progressive, passionate candidates to support right here in Boston.

So yeah, I’m not my resume. I’m not my bank account.

Though, I promise, I’m not enough of a hipster to think believing this makes me special.

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