When I turned thirty, I celebrated life. I celebrated the gift of choice. I celebrated the turn-around from wanting to die to wanting to live. I got healthy, both body and mind. I was strong and flexible in most areas of my life. Life got better and better. It got good to the point where, on some level, I secretly believed there was nothing more to be gained … and then all hell broke loose.
Sitting here, feeling a profound peace, I look back at almost two years of chaos and disruption and see the perfect orchestration of events that led to the lessons I needed to learn more than anything; to love myself fully and completely without outside validation; to shed the grief of living in constant fear of not being loved and the choices that evolved naturally.
This year, turning thirty-eight, I celebrate my life. I celebrate the freedom that comes through choice. I celebrate the turn-around from wanting to becoming. For the first time in my life, I am fully present. I’m not being kept back by limiting beliefs from my past; spending my time doing what I love most; marveling at the future that is awaiting, crafting it deliberately. For the first time in my life, there is no need to hold back anymore; I am free.