PicoBlog

nearly, at least. we’re staring down the last few days of 2023, a year that—to me, at least—felt at once slow as molasses and fast as the speed of light. the truth? this was a tough one for me. there was brightness, and joy, and laughter, sure. but some days, i wasn’t sure i would make it. and yet, somehow i did. somehow, i woke up, put one foot in front of the other, and just like that, time passed. as it always has. as it always does. this time of year always makes me feel extra introspective. perhaps it’s because the new year brings with it a new year of life for me, personally—my birthday is on the 8th. as i welcome in 2024, i’ll say hello to my 38th year of life, a number so staggeringly high i look around and think, how on earth did i get here?

it’s worth noting that in so many ways, life at almost 38 doesn’t look like i thought it would. i never expected to be a big city girl, to have put down roots in new york, of all places. i never expected that i’d be rounding the corner to the big 4-0 without nary a romantic prospect (though, between us chickens, some very good sex) in sight. that i’d be childless, and coming to terms with the possibility that being a mom might not be in the cards for me.

it’s weird, this age. i don’t feel 38. i’ve been out with men (almost) ten years older than me and ten years younger than me, and just about everywhere in between. these men have stretched my heart and broken it, restored my faith then promptly taken it away again. they have taught me things, like the fact that a body like mine can be desirable instead of hated, that i, too, can be wanted. that age is, really and truly, just a number.

ncG1vNJzZmismJq0s63Nna6enZuhxm%2B%2F1JuqrZmToHuku8xop2irn2K5sLrGZmlpamNirm65zqeroWWSrnquu82tn2aqlZiusQ%3D%3D