A full frontal lobe & other thoughts

24 didn’t get a blog. Sorry 24. It’s not that it wasn’t a good year, but the same old excuses persist—life got busy, all I do is read and write so coming up with words of my own takes so much more effort, my boyfriend listens to my endless stream of consciousness so the public is spared, etc., etc. 

It still feels like there are a lot of words within me, despite my absence. They used to flow out of me more readily, now it feels like I need to keep them to myself more than ever before. Maybe this is how my frontal lobe developing is manifesting in ways I can see and feel. I try to be more careful with my words. I now understand why people just keep things to themselves. I also began flossing and opened a retirement account. So I really feel like an adult now. 

I thought being open with my life and secrets would connect me to people. Make me more interesting. I’ve been know to make my life the butt of a joke and tell stories upon meeting people that should maybe be held away until they’re earned. It has never really bothered me to be an open book. Now, I feel less confident that I have anything of substance to say anymore. Not that I was truly confident before, but I think I just didn’t really care. 

My blog came up during an important professional interview. It’s silly that this scenario had never crossed my mind. I never imagined it being of any interest, but I guess this is a large portion of my digital footprint. I still got the job! 

Back to my birthday. I heard once that the kindest thing you can do for someone is go to their birthday. I think the thought is that no one cares about your own birthday more than you do. You want people to come to your birthday party, so you should return the favor. I never really have big birthday parties because of when my birthday falls. Everyone is always scattered. It feels too difficult to plan it all for myself. I’ve spent all but two birthdays with at least one of my parents. I turned 15 at camp and 23 in London without them. My parents are the only ones I can always count on to care as much as I do about my birthday, which I really appreciate and always try to return the favor. 

I’m excited for 25. Maybe I’ll have a quarter life crisis. Maybe I’ll rent a car. The world is my oyster! I’ve lived a lot of lives in these 25 years. I’ve packed up and moved to new cities, states, and countries blindly, but never on a whim. I think it through—for the most part—and sometimes I have a plan. Even if the short-term isn’t always quite clear, the bigger picture is continuously in the back of my mind. 

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Of what? I’ve never really known. I think that’s why the blog works for me. I’m not creative enough to write fiction, and I’m not a subject matter expert on anything relevant, so I turn to my life. I have a lot to say about all of it, but I feel like you can only write about things with a certain je ne sais quoi once you’re a little further removed from it all (did I use that phrase right? As I reread this I’m still unsure). I’ll circle back in a few years. 

I couldn’t wait to turn 15, and then I blinked and it’s been 10 years (Lorde reference). I remember 15 vividly. I was awkward and energetic and wanted to be an adult that had my own life. I think she’d be proud of the one I’ve created. Here’s to you, here’s to me, and here’s to her!