This year I don’t want a long list of superficial goals. Idealistic thoughts about having things that don’t really matter or a body I’ve been told to need. This year I want to commit to being good to my soul. To curate happiness in my bones.
I don’t want anything more than to journey to understand that I am all I will ever need.
Everyone asks me why I make a big deal about birthdays. Why I claim February as my birthday month. It’s because of someone who did once before. It’s because I was lucky enough to have someone show me the importance of me. It’s because he died; and the only other person who can ever show me the importance of me is me.
It’s because six years ago I wondered if it was worth existing. It’s because five years ago I wondered why I was still living. It’s because once upon a time I believed in what everyone else showed me; instead of what I wanted to show myself.
We are who we believe ourselves to be.
Four years ago I had a single checking account, with $100 to my name and no dream of what I wanted to become because I didn’t think I could make it past 17.
Four years ago, I woke up each morning; terrified and confused, in a relationship I was too young to handle with a yearning to be something I never thought I could be.
Three years ago, to everyone else, I became a Siren, a meme–the top of r/cringe. Three years ago, to me, I became someone with a steady paycheck, a shelter she had control over and a girl capable of the idea of something more.
Two years ago I moved countries, got two promotions, fell in love with myself and found hope that maybe I had the courage to live, instead of the will to die.
One year ago I signed a lease for a condo I still can’t believe, stood up for myself against someone I will always love, and decided to stop just existing… so I could start fucking living.
Every morning, for the first time in my life, I wake up for myself because I want to. Because I can’t sleep when I think about how excited I am for the next day of my life to start. For my next thoughts. For my next journey.
So when people tell me to stop being full of myself… Maybe you should try it. Maybe if you are full of yourself you’ll realize you don’t need anyone else. Maybe if you are full of yourself you’ll no longer feel the need to comment on other people.
My birthday is the most important day in the universe because it’s the day I was born to see it. Because my father showed me my birth was a gift. Because each passing year marks another 365 days I’ve decided to live. Because you should celebrate your existence. Because I am important, and you are important–and jesus, is it okay to fucking say it.