A Letter to Myself: 29

I view birthdays as my personal New Years. This means I reflect – a lot – and write some, too.

dress 

At 29:

You care both more and less than you ever have before. Less about the things that don’t matter – a list that seems to grow by the day – and more and about things that do: Your friends, your family, your happiness, your health. All the in-between stuff will fall how it falls, and it will all be okay.

You’ve learned that curating your life won’t make you happy, but that curating the people in your life certainly will. You’ve learned that people will come and go, and you have to let them. The ones who are supposed to stay will. The ones who are supposed to join your life will.

The last year taught you that you have to let go of what things are “supposed” to look like. What motherhood is supposed to look like, what a career at almost 30 is supposed to look like, what future plans are supposed to look like. There’s no “supposed” to, there’s only what is, and working to find joy in what already is.

Things that have brought you immense joy lately:

Holding your best friend’s brand new, perfect baby.

Reading good books in the sunshine.

Coffee in pajamas.

Dressing up for brunch with friends who don’t care that you have a (very messy) 5 year old in tow.

Spontaneous weekends with the people you love.

Cute clothes.

Facetime dates with people who live far away.

And this is only the beginning of the list. You know now, that even when life is hard, it is still good.

I’m proud of you. And that matters.