Goodbye, Year 25.

Goodbye, Year 25.

You were heartbreak. You took so much from me.

You were eye-opening and beautiful. You taught me everything.

You were mountains of tears and emptiness. You broke me.

You were meaningful conversations. You were back to basics.

You were four bedroom walls. You were trips around the world.

You were my biggest challenge and the only reason I am alive today.

I started off this journey turning 25 and having no idea what was happening in my life. I had lost a part of me that I will never get back. I was at an age where the standard was exciting friendships, long nights out, and general happiness all around me. Meanwhile, I was questioning everything I ever knew to be true. I wondered if love actually existed or if it was all bullshit. I found each day meaningless. I pondered who would actually miss me if I was gone.

The details of the first part of this year are irrelevant, really. They involve a physically unhealthy amount of wine and other drugs and crying until my body was so tired it had no choice but to sleep. The hurt of this year wasn’t excruciating because of its gravity. The stakes couldn’t have been higher. The pain and loss and fear was just so persistent. It was like having a constant stomach ache or migraine and nobody having the right medicine.

There were no lightbulbs, there were no ah-ha moments where it all clicked back into place. It still isn’t back in place. The pain is still there, and I am unsure how long I will carry that. I did, however, find myself again. I stopped numbing myself by pretending I didn’t have feelings. I rediscovered things I love. I found quotes that made me feel better. I watched movies that made me laugh. I talked to people I love and asked them questions. I took walks with my Aunt and visited old friends. I started playing basketball again and listened to music. I wrote a lot.

Time and letting yourself grieve are the only answers sometimes. We put too much pressure on ourselves to figure it all out or “push through” the hurt as if it has some threshold. It doesn’t. Some days were easier and my coworkers made me laugh. My mom and dad and sister were able to make me smile with a memory or trip to distract me. Some days were harder to even get out of bed or see sunlight. I learned a thousand lessons in Year 25 about relationships, life, struggle, and what it means to grow. The biggest was the patience and love you need to show yourself when you are struggling. You have to love yourself. You have to take breaths and let time do its job. You have to talk to people. You have to fucking forgive yourself.

Year 25 made me realize how temporary this all is. Sometimes I live in my head and not in the reality around me. That’s a scary place to be. This year has forced self-awareness to how short life is. Nothing is guaranteed. Most days I’m 26 going on 56. I’m worried about what is next. I am planning the next 5-10 years of my life. That habit is certainly over. Life has a way of running its course, despite all the grand plans in your head of how it's supposed to go.

What a blessing it is to see 365 more days. 365 more chances to learn and mess up and navigate. I like myself so much better than I did just one year ago. I finally can look at Year 25 not as the definition of who I am, but a wild chapter in my book.  There is so much much to go. Year 25, there is so much to say about you. You brought me to my knees with pain and also showed me joy I never knew was possible. You have shown me what I can do. I accept the depth of my heart, the imperfections of my body, and the challenge of my mind. It’s all mine. You were good and terrible and messy. You brought people into my life and I will never let go of them. You have taught me to own this process of learning myself. I welcome you with open arms.

The hashtag is retired and I’m stepping into today. This year is all about the positive. The risk taking. The daily choice. The smiling at strangers. The gratitude. The now.

Year 26 is finally here.