Another Year

Birthdays used to feel like arrival points. At some undefined age ahead of me, I would feel assembled. Settled. Certain.

Instead, another year has passed and I still feel mid-conversation with myself. Not lost. Not found. Just... ongoing.

The older I get, the less dramatic change feels.

I know more than I did. That’s true. I know what steadies me. I know what unsettles me. I know what I want. I know what distracts me from it. The gap between knowledge and action is still there, but at least now I can see it clearly. That counts for something.

There were things this year I survived that I once would have thought impossible. There were also moments I avoided, conversations I postponed, risks I diluted, depth I skimmed past.

I am not who I was a year ago. But I am also not yet who I am trying to become.

And maybe that’s the most honest place to stand on a birthday, not at the finish line, not at the beginning, but somewhere in the middle of the work.

Another year of the same choices in front of me. Another year to decide.

I don’t feel complete. But I do feel aware. For now that’s enough.