I’m not sure that birthdays have ever been a really big deal to me… maybe I just don’t remember.  For some reason, this one has hit me in a really weird way.  I’m not sure, but for some reason for the week leading up to my birthday I really spent a lot of time thinking about it… not just thinking about plans and what to do to celebrate, but thinking about what it means to be 26.  I’m entering into the latter half of my twenties, the 30 side of 20, if you will.  Honestly, I kinda freaked out, internally… I don’t often freak out externally.

And here I am 2 weeks post-birthday and I still think I’m 25.  Just last night I made the comment, “I’m 25, not 55,” and I didn’t realize until later that night that I am, in fact, 26. 

Maybe it’s that I’m not where I expected to be at 26; I certainly never anticipated spending a birthday in seminary, starting over in a new city with a new roommate, finding a new church, making new friendships.  But on the other hand, I didn’t think my life was totally settled.  I expected change, looked forward to where the next chapter would take me.  I’m not totally sure what I expected life to look like at this point, or if I really had any concrete expectations at all.  Can you be disappointed if you didn’t really have any expectations to begin with?

By 27, who knows what life will look like.  And at 36, 46, 56… there’s no way of knowing.  So I guess the only option is to enjoy the ride.  There is a race set out for each of us, so we run with perseverance knowing that each year will bring new surprises, challenges, lessons.

I know I am where I should be and if every year I can say that, life will be good no matter the number.


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