I turned 25 on Sunday. I think I’m supposed to feel all existential and “oh my God I’m getting SO OLD” about it, and I did for a bit leading up to it, but mainly I’m just incredibly grateful. I’m so grateful that I have this life, with friends who will plan me a big fancy brunch and bring number balloons (my secret dream that I have literally never expressed to anyone on the planet for fear of it being so basic) and take me to the beach and to bookstores and for tacos and take a thousand photos of me laughing in front of different murals. The weather was good, the laughs were plentiful, and I feel lucky.
Things I don’t want to forget: being told I needed to stay in the car because I got there early (which never happens), the fact that the man who took our big group photo turned out to be the author of Call Me By Your Name, which Bri and I had gone to see the night before, it being Oscar Sunday which hasn’t ever happened before and will likely never happen again, eating tacos for dinner, being too full to eat my free birthday milkshake after breakfast + mimosas + cake, the fact that there was cake at all, sitting on the beach and listening to the ocean and going to two bookstores.
I am 25, and I am thankful.