I am twenty-three years old. Can you believe it? Twenty-three! That's like practically mid-twenties. I'm freaking out! I cannot believe how long I've been alive and how many things have happened to me in that time. From bastard child to golden child to painfully shy adolescent to bad girl to geek to theatre chick to sorostitute to party girl, I feel like I've been so many different things. I AM so many different things. I am constantly amazed at how much change and reinvention is possible in such a short span of time.
In the words of Talib Kweli, "life is a beautiful struggle." I've never really found another phrase that describes my time on earth thus far. It's been good and bad and all things in-between, but it was always beautiful.
This year was insane for me. This time last year, I was one-month into my life in California, I had no idea what the hell I was doing. My job was confusing, my life was confusing, I didn't know who my friends were or how I was going to live in this alien place. I started dating hardcore - going out every weekend with one, two, three guys. I'd never dated like that ever. I met a boy who, for better or for worse, changed me - challenged me, forced me to admit things to myself that I didn't want to admit. For once I was sleeping with someone that I actually cared about, allowing myself to get close to someone for the first time. It wasn't perfect and mistakes were made, but it was the closest thing to a real relationship that I'd ever had. Attention must be paid.
I carved a life for myself - a life of Tuesday night drinks with my friends, Thursday night movie nights, Fridays spent hanging in the Mission with one of my best friends, Saturdays eating biscuits with MB, keeping Sunday as my one day to myself. I explored San Francisco - found neighborhoods, restaurants, bookstores that I liked. I laughed, I cried, I swore up and down, I felt things. Amazing things. Things I'd never felt before.
I got sick. I almost died. I spent the end of my vacation in DC in a hospital gown, in extreme pain, as two of the best friends I've ever had tried to get me through it. I went home to my parents where I cried every night thinking of my mortality. I prayed to God, the universe, and anyone I could think of to keep me alive and whole. And that sparked something in me. A desire for happiness that I'd never really known. For most of my life, I'd just plodded through, but for the first time in my life I knew that I could die tomorrow and I did not want to die with the way things were.
I moved. It took a lot of work and a lot of convincing - assuring myself that I wasn't a failure, but that I was doing something for my happiness, something that would make my life better in the long run. I came home. I fought with my mother over apartments and life decisions and her role in my life. I thought I would never talk to her in the same way again, but I got over it. I moved on. I forgave. And here I am today, 23 years old, living in the best city - my favorite city - working in a good job, studying to take the test that will put me on the path to being what I've wanted to be for so long. I'm still growing, still learning, still changing, still discovering new facets of my personality.
You've come a long way, baby, but you've still got a ways to go. I'm looking forward to it =)