Another Year Older

I am 29 years old and have nothing figured out.  

I have a career I’m semi passionate about and have reached every goal I hoped to achieve so far.  I am decent at it and get along with my co-workers. There is nothing to complain about, yet I struggle to call it my forever job.  

I have my own place with mismatched furniture and a fridge that is never stocked.  I have friends who sometimes have my back and friends who I am so blessed to have reconnected with over the years.  Yet I still feel alone.

I travel and go to concerts and try to live my life to the fullest, yet something feels like its missing.  I live paycheck to paycheck and try to keep my crippling debt under control, while still trying to make memories and have experiences I can brag about when I’m older and looking back on the ‘glory days’.  

I dream of packing up in the middle of the night and starting over.  I dream of finding love and passion and adventure yet wake up too terrified to try.  I paint on a mask of carefree confidence and pretend to brush everything off, swear sticks and stones can’t hurt me.  Than cry myself to sleep wondering what is wrong with me.

I claim to be okay when inside everything feels too broken to be pieced back together.

But maybe this is what growing up truly is.  Without the glitz and glamour of social media and trying so hard to appear to be as put together as everyone else around you seems.  Maybe I am not the only one going through each day trying to keep my head above water and praying no one can notice. Wishing that just one person would.  

I guess where I’m going with all of this, in the slightly more emo tone than I intended, is nobody is perfect (thank you Hannah Montana) and it’s time to embrace it.

I am 29 years old and it is okay to not have my life pinned down.  

All that matters is I am trying.