Today is my 26th birthday, and I have to say it: My birthday is one of my favorite holidays. Selfish? Definitely. Oh well. I really love my birthday. Is that weird? Am I too old to like my birthday so much?
So today’s post is dedicated to all those birthdays past. (The ones I have pictures on hand for anyway.) And if you were a reader around this time last you, you’ll know that Sam and I were in a very awful long-distance relationship and celebrated over Skype. Yep, he threw me a Skype party.
I have to admit that my life doesn’t remotely resemble what I thought my life was going to look like at 26. As a kid, 26 is so thoroughly grown-up. I’m not famous, or sucessful. I don’t have any money in my savings account. (Or my checking) I’ll be 50 before I pay off my student loans, home ownership a pipe dream. I’m not as widely traveled, fabulously dressed, or (it pains me to admit it) as smart as I envisioned myself being.
But.
I have a BA and an MA. I have a partner in my life that I love unwaveringly. I’ve been paid to act. I’ve been paid for my poetry. I get to live in a country that I am not a citizen of. I write this blog and people actually read it.
I’ve always been an idealist and a dreamer. At my best I can be inspired, highly creative, and sensitive; at my worst, melancholy, contemptful and self-indlugent. So here’s to 26 bringing out more of the positive spectrum of my personality.
Age 4:
The “I get to eat frosting flowers” face of excitement.
Age 5:
My love of the Wizard of Oz knew no bounds. It was the perfect cake. Look at that expression of pure cake joy.
Age 8:
Ha! I can’t believe someone gave me $20 in ones. It’s like they wanted me to grow up and me a stripper. Look at how rich I thought I was! (And how nonplussed my mom was.)
Another snap of the same birthday. I just wanted to show you all my piggy-cake face.
Now let’s fast forward 11 years. (Because I can’t be bothered to dig for those photos.)
Age 19:
With my best friend ever G, outside the Denver Art Museum. It was apparently not a photogenic birthday.
Age 21:
| Snaffling some Oreo Ice Cream Cake in my Atlanta apartment |
Age 22:
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| Birthday sass. (And the time I mistakenly thought boyfriend jeans could be flattering. ) |
Age 23:
Two of my lovely girlfriends making me a birthday picnic in Atlanta.
Age 24:
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| My beautiful former flatmate, A, and I with the giggles. |
Here’s to many more birthdays with people just as amazing as the these!
And I have a lovely blog sponsor like Allison!
