I woke up this morning in the tiny wedge of space we call a bed in the Bulli, my husband next to me and my dog whining to be let into the bed and I thought "Yep, SOME things I've managed to do pretty well so far."
I suppose it's unsurprising that a birthday leads to quite a bit of reflection on the life led till now. I've often compared myself to those who seem to have it all together: the house, the kids, the good car, the impressive job. And of course I come up lacking. I mean, dude, I own a shitty bicycle and a limited edition signed Geiger print. I rent, have a dog and I've thrown in the impressive-sounding job.
But this past year I've found myself, through my writing group and other creative pasttimes, hanging out with more people like me. People who haven't achieved those goals and have a great, impressive, exciting life.
And I think "Yep, at 33 I LIKE me. And my life."