twenty-five.

Nearly a week late, but alas, here are a few reflections after toasting a quarter-century of being alive and well:

Other than The Word Project I myself have been pretty quiet on this little blog. Trying to think of the milestones of this past year is difficult; there feels like there is little to report as far as anything flashy or news-worthy goes, but it was such a significant year in the deep, deep part of me, which is trickier to talk about. I get impossibly insecure lately about the question, "how are you?" because I find it complicated to answer, especially when the lovely people in my life really want to know the true response. The most succinct answer, most honestly, and especially over this past year, is, "I am so many things." I feel gawky and feely and complicated and awkward like a kid who cut their own bangs and is waiting for them to grow out; I feel empty and hopeful and bored and busy and hungry and numb from spending so much time per week on public transit. I am twenty-five and still don't know how to properly blow dry my hair or go through a day without my mascara smudging or drink water without spilling it down my shirt. Cool. I feel unsure about pretty much everything except that I want to start my day with a cup of coffee.

This has been a year of closing into myself to take a look around at my head and heart. This was the year my chest caught on fire, enflamed with pain and sickness, urging me to listen.This is a metaphor and it is also not a metaphor. I've taken inventory and thrown a lot of things out and I am getting used to all of the space and all of the echoing and all of the light. It was a decade of lessons, blow upon blow, grace upon grace. This was the year that felt like a coal mine, dark and deep and ashy, and sifting, so much sifting. There was so much monotony and so much stirring. This was the year that turned me into sand. I have felt myself age. I have felt myself surrender and bellow and call out to the heavens and lost hope and look for the good in the quietest of days and admit to my weaknesses and sink into the depths of loneliness and, on more and more days, I have been able to pull myself out. 

I am humbled by the intensity of this last year, how eloquently it was written, even the brutal barrenness, even the days of hollow eyes and empty hands. I feel bewildered by it all, all that has happened and all that hasn't. And mostly I am humbled by the kindness of others, the friends and loved ones who have fed me and encouraged me and reminded me of my name when I forgot it, who have scooped me up and held me close and listened and most of all laughed so brightly that the silly impossibility I so often feel melted away. 

Cheers to being young and silly and bewildered by this complex and brilliant world, and to lightness, which I wish more than anything for all of you. 

xo j.  

Posted on March 17, 2015 and filed under from jess-.