“You’re not getting older; you’re becoming a classic.” ~Betty White

My 29th birthday is a little over a month away and something about this birthday has got me feeling so grateful. Reflective. When I was 7, I couldn’t see past 16, and when I was 16 I couldn’t fathom over the age of 22. 22 was SO OLD to me at the time, but oh man how badly I wanted to be an adult. In this lifetime, being a kid was a weakness for me. Maybe in the next I will enjoy my childhood.

Now as a late 28-year-old, I laugh at the rationale of my younger youth. It reminds me of that saying by the playwright George Bernard Shaw: “Youth is wasted on the young.” I like to think of myself as still being young, even if I am not the societal ideal of 18. I am still a dreamer, just with a little more sustenance to my name. And I still hold dearly to the older me I want to be.

Every year that goes by and the expression lines carve into the surface of my skin, she grows older along with me. How old? I couldn’t tell you, but her eyes tell you she is a much older, much wiser version of me. Her voice was gentle but it commanded space, no longer boxed in by the thoughts of other people. Her breath spoke life in all she did. Her wisdom formed by the sorrows of life and the desire to create joy.

Yet, here she sits, staring back at me. Unjudging. Steadfast in her convictions but still always hard on herself.

We laugh at our youth and at hers (which was far beyond me). In her youth she was a fixer. A people pleaser. An over-thinker… And worse… she wore her emotions like a badge of honor. A hot mess, as people like to put it. But with age came the ability to evolve those traits from assumed weaknesses to character strengths. Lessons that became the outline to walk through life with. The noise of others became just that. Noise.

The healthy love that she dissected the very fabric of her soul for flushed on her cheeks as much as they did in her heart. The memories of her growing children play out in the crevices of her mind. Little hands, dirty cheeks, and smiles that made people melt into their shoes. Even now she sends the silent prayers that every parent cries into the universe.

Women who sat beside her pour love into her very being. Some friends have left and some family followed. Others have moved beyond this world, but it all mattered in the fabric of her being and she hoped she did the same for them.

And there was the person who walked in life with her. With me. The man with the dark-rimmed glasses and the freckles on his eyes who nurtured his partnership so well she moved the moon for him. Never perfect but always striving for that selfless, healing kind of love. The person that lived in the in-between spaces of life as much as he rode out the highest highs and deepest lows. When her kids grew up it was just them. And they loved and celebrated each other deeply.

In the end, she knew it was herself she would have to sit with. The woman she built from patchwork fabric, 10-mile runs, and some would say way too many books (they are wrong btw)… she was hers. And she was proud of that. Maybe one day I’ll sit like her, staring back at the younger me.

So cheers to one more year of my 20s. Hopefully many more to come with gentle lessons (…please?).

Kisses,

Shay

P.S. Life is hard right now, the world feels like it is burning, especially if you spend any time online. Remember to carve out space to take care of yourself and the people in the spaces around you. We can choose to be the best versions of ourselves.

XOXO

---

Follow my socials 💗