I woke up at 5:45 a.m., and honestly… I wasn’t really feeling this whole turning 35 thing. It’s supposed to be a milestone, a celebration, a moment of reflection. But right now? It mostly feels like “huh… okay, here we go.”
I grabbed my free Starbucks drink and McDonald’s burrito—small perks that made me feel officially recognized as “birthday person.” Breakfast of champions, even if my soul wasn’t quite cheering yet. I watched the sunrise from the Planet Fitness parking lot, letting the quiet morning try to soothe the tension I didn’t even know I was carrying. The hydrotherapy massage table helped too—some things jets can fix, and some things they can’t.
Later, I drove to the Ohio River overlook with my Bible in hand and a playlist from loved ones in my ears. It was grounding. Even if I wasn’t feeling fireworks, music and scripture reminded me I’m not alone. Sometimes birthdays aren’t big celebrations—they’re quiet reckonings with time, life, and where you thought you’d be versus where you actually are.
Back home, I baked an apple cobbler, chilled with my husband and son, took a much-needed nap, then visited my Nana, and made what might have been an ungodly amount of pasta. By dinner, I realized: birthdays don’t have to feel epic to be meaningful. Simple, messy, imperfect life moments count too—and sometimes, that’s more than enough.
So here I am at 35. Uneasy, reflective, a little unsure… but still loved, still living, still moving forward. And if nothing else, I survived the pasta binge. Maybe that’s enough for today.
Leave a comment