Image: clevercupcakes via flickr

Image: clevercupcakes via flickr

I’m another year older. To be honest, I have no problem with getting older. Mainly because I truly don’t feel my age. Although, I’m not entirely sure what 34 is supposed to feel like. Nor for that matter what 33 was supposed to feel like.  I joke that I’m really only turning 24 since the 30’s are the new 20’s. Not that I feel like I’m 24, but I do feel more like someone in their late 20’s. I guess because I’m at a stage where I’m all about figuring out who I am and what I want to do with my life. That’s what you’re supposed to do in your 20’s. Unfortunately, I don’t think I had lived enough to figure out or know what I wanted to do with my life or who I wanted to be during my 20’s. Now that I’m older and wiser (?), I feel like I can actually work through that process.

At this stage in my life, I am confortably selfish. I’m not ready to be responsible for someone else–husband or child. I have plenty of friends my age and younger who are married w/children. As of this moment, I’m not at a point where I want what they have/want. I don’t know if I ever will; but I certainly don’t hear any clock ticking. I figure I have plenty of time. And why not. What’s the hurry? I just want to take each day as it comes. I don’t want to stress about where society says I should be at “my age.” I’m perfectly fine with feeling younger than I am. If anything, I hope the feeling continues.

…For the most part my birtday was fine. Dinner with friends. I had wanted to go to a French restaurant that I’ve come to like since moving back to LA. (My favorite French restaurant is in DC & I make it a point to visit every time I’m back in town.) But when a friend & I walked up to it, we discovered that in the 4 months since I’d last been there, it had been replaced by a dog bakery!! Disappointed, but ended up at a good Italian restaurant across the street that never fails to be good.

Still, the day was hard. While I lived away from home for 10 years & wasn’t in the same state/country as my mother for 9 of those birthdays, I still always talked to her on my birthday. Her absence was obvious. And it wasn’t lost on me that my mother will never know me at this age. I’m glad to put 33 behind me. To say it was an age I would sooner forget is an understatement. Unfortunately, I can’t erase it. It was what it was. It got me to 34.