i had a birthday this weekend. i had a fun day with so many people that i love, and who love me. it was a good day, but something wasn’t right. something felt off about the whole thing. i felt like the happiness i exhibited to my friends and family during all the celebrations was all just an act…

i realized today that the problem was that i could not escape a looming reality: i am 27 years old and am living a life that i don’t really love. i know the importance of this gift of life, and i have a desire to live it with joy and enthusiasm and complete honesty, but i just haven’t been able to make it happen in a completely real and true way. at first this revelation brought with it hopelessness and fear that i am incapable of ever getting better. it was a scary thought… but then another voice inside me spoke; one that i wasn’t even sure had existed. it told me that no matter what i have done in my life—the mistakes i’ve made, the people i’ve hurt, the lies and masks and games—they do not define the person that i can be. nobody is doomed to make the same mistakes over and over and over, unless they choose to give up trying to learn and grow and change. i’ve spent so much time and energy trying to invent a reality where i am totally in control and self-aware, that i stopped actually being in control. i was so concerned with maintaining the lie that i lost sight of who i really am. and in doing so, i forgot to keep growing, keep learning, keep living.

this weekend i turned 27, and i realized that i have a whole lot of work to do. and i can do it.