turning 27
taken today on my 27th birthday
One of the sad parts about growing older is outgrowing past versions of yourself. I often think about 22 year old me. There’s a creeping suspicion she’s disappointed — not in the new things about me, but the parts of me that have wilted. I search and search for the extroverted freckle-faced girl I once knew but she’s quite hard to find, if you can find her at all. The vivacity I once knew her for is more like a whisper now.
But where there has been withering there also has been new buds. I hope 22 year old me feels impressed. Impressed with these legs that couldn’t run a mile last year, but have now done three half marathons. Impressed with my creative ambition that finally started buckaroo vintage. Impressed with my clay covered hands and grit at the wheel to make something beautiful. I hope she’s happy I found one of my lifelong friends this year, learned to forgive in big ways, and made room for passion and creativity to reign.
This is 27.
