Another year older and what do you get?

It's my birthday.

I'm thirty-four.

Mostly I don't care, but there is a slight potential for cake, which always makes me sit up and take notice. I'm shallow like that.

It's probably pretty obvious that I've been thinking a lot about my life lately. Last year around my birthday I was doing really huge things like hiding the fact that I was really close to a book deal and figuring out where I wanted to go to church and deciding that I was going to do an enormous breast cancer walk in 2009. I really thought that 33 was going to be my best year ever. I really did.

But yeah. It really wasn't.

Not that it was a bad year. It wasn't. I had some really fantastically amazing things happen to me (notably, this). But with those good things? Often came a really, really nasty price. I'm currently working out in my head if the price was worth the reward.

For the most part, it has been. I've met amazing people this year, like her, and her, and him. I've gotten some really amazing opportunities. I found my favorite cousin AND my childhood best friend on Facebook, and I cannot begin to tell you how happy THAT has made me. So worth the loss of "privacy", that much I can promise.

I've laughed until I cried. Many times.

I've cried until I was all cried out. Many times.

I've learned people's true colors. Which, actually, sucks sometimes. But I'm wiser. And I guess that comes with age, but it also comes with exposing yourself. With success. With breaking away.

So.

I'm thirty-four.

I'm still working on defining success.


And I'm grateful. So grateful.