Birthday Blogging

Guess who's 23? It's me, it's me!

Today is my birthday, and for those who know me well, one of my favorite days of the year. I like being fawned over, damn it, and I'm not going to lie about it. You do too. So I assume my birth-given right to be the center of attention just one day a year. I've earned it, right?

I'm another year older. Definitely another year wiser. And another step closer to being what I want to be. I think I've go it together pretty well to be only 23-years-old: I'm a college graduate, I'm pursuing an advanced degree and meaningful career, I'm an important person in many people's lives (but not as important as they are in mine), and, you know, I'm not a drug-addict, nor do I have a police record. In twenty-three years I've grown up, moved away from home, and kept my senses and my checking account from dipping in the red during the process. I've read some good books, written some bad poems, made sense of the bad for something good. I've loved another person deeply and had him love me back, but more frequently I've loved and not been loved back. I wouldn't trade either experience, though I prefer the former, because they've made me learn more about myself than I sometimes care to know. I've made great friends and seen great places: New York, San Francisco, both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. I lived outside the country for a summer (okay, so it was just Canada. Still.), and I've made peace with the fact that the South is where I'd rather be. Ask me tomorrow and my answer might change, but as of today, I am happy. I'm happy to be doing what I'm doing, happy with who I am. I'm confident and comfortable with all those pesky identity issues that plagued me in younger years: sexuality, religion, class. None of that stuff does anything to detract from me being a good person. And I am a good person. It's taken me 23 years to really believe that.