February 22, 2024

This is 37 ☀️

And it looks like: Doing whatever I want. Without worrying if I should throw a bigger party or have fancy balloons or decorate my house with streamers or whatever else the internet might tell me I ought to be doing.

It looked like being in bed by midnight.

It looked like using a beeswax candle in the middle of my cake cause blowing out candles is my favorite and I didn’t remember to get them.

It looked like picture 2 where @morganickitchen caught me posing for pictures and videos just a little longer than I should’ve because I am a real ham and I love a camera (truly 🐖)

And I’m just so grateful. Grateful for the women (and men!) in my life. Grateful that I felt oh so loved up on the whole day. Grateful for realness and platonic intimacy and the privilege of being alive and getting older.

But, truly. In a world obsessed with “anti-aging”, they fail to mention how much better life gets with each passing year.

I wanna scream from the rooftops to anyone who feels they’ve missed the boat, or they’re too old for ____, that there are no rules about what we can and can’t do because of age.

And god it’s been a journey to get to this point of acceptance.

For me, it started with accepting and embracing all of me, at each age, with tenderness and gentleness. The little inner me playing princesses, the rebellious teenager, the party girl in her 20s, newly divorced me who didn’t know what rules to play by, and this newest version of (late) 30s me who’d (generally) rather stay home and be cozy.

In a world where we bare our souls on the internet, can we allow ourselves to continue to be ever-growing, ever-changing, ever-evolving? Can we be authentic while knowing that our barometer for authenticity will also change? Can I allow myself to simply be?

Thanks for reading my totally scattered birthday diary. I’m really grateful for you 🫶