If you'd asked my 25-year-old self what I'd be like in ten years' time I probably would have had a fair stab at describing my actual life - house in the suburbs, couple of kids, some kind of job -but the devil is in the detail, and there are so many things that I'd hoped to be doing by now that I'm just not.
Just be you and never try to be a people pleaser, folks will like and love you for who you are and if they can't accept that then you don't need them in your life. Laugh, be kind and don't ever let boys break your heart. Most importantly bask in what makes you happy and build your worth on experiences and not possessions. Never forget that you can talk to me.
Last weekend was my birthday, and in the lead-up to it I was a flipping nightmare. I didn't want to turn 35 - it just seemed one inevitable, saggy step closer to 40. However, in the beatific afterglow of a lot of red wine and the fact that I turned 35 and my face didn't immediately shrivel into a Crankies-like death mask, I have figured out there are some pretty good things about reaching roughly half your life expectancy...
Nobody has sung at me. I wasn't woken up with gifts, or breakfast in bed. I doubt there'll be a cake, unless the cafe at work decides it needs to use up all the eggs before the weekend. I'm going to work, and I'm continuing on with my day. But I am celebrating. I am celebrating harder than I celebrated my 21st birthday.
Birthdays are funny ones. They are seen as milestone, a celebration, another year survived. Some dread it some welcome it but the point is it's the time you came into being on this planet. It's your first step, your first imprint. To have witnessed my son's birth makes that so much more apparent and I am starting to understand this complicated thing we call life.