Somewhere in between talking my sister off the “I’m turning 30” ledge and sucking down my mango margarita at Toloache NYC this afternoon, I managed to grieve an entire life I was never meant to live. I, for one, have never been the type to make a huge deal of my birthday. Aside from going on an excursion to DR for my 25th and a few skating rink parties in my prepubescent years, my birthdays have been rather…well…uneventful. “One year older, one year wiser” is how I believe the saying goes, and as a self titled “intellectual thinker” I’ve always welcomed the latter as reason enough to look forward to my special day. But this year… LORD have mercy…THIS YEAR was different. I think if God came down and told me I could trade in a year of wisdom for even two more weeks of 27, I would have said “you know what, I may just take you up on that.” In my head I was okay with being a 27 year old editorial assistant living paycheck to paycheck with no baby, husband or house (did I mention money?) in the foreseeable future. Wrapping my head around all of that as a 28 year old… well it just seemed too much to handle.
A few days after my trip to Paris in mid January, I remember thinking, “omg, oMG, OMG!!! This is not happening. I am not really turning 28 this year.” Ladies and gentleman, this is what psychologists would call “shock and denial.” And trust me– I recognized it at the time for what it was, but before I could even email my therapist for a few sessions on her couch to “reverse” what I was feeling, it was obvious that I was going to have to see this grieving process through to the end.
What followed was intense concern. Granted, I’m not the type of person to stress out over things, ruminate on issues I can’t change or get caught up in feeling bad for myself, but 28 was proving to be a whole different beast. For weeks my mind vacillated between “you’re doing well, you’re on the right track” and “so you’re really going to be a 28 year old editorial assistant, living paycheck to paycheck with no baby, husband or house (did I mention money?) in the foreseeable future?” All it took was a couple weeks of this tug-of-war with my head and my heart before I ended up at despair and depression. (Before I go any further I have to address how AWFUL these words sound. On the same note (and sadly) they are a perfect pairing for how I felt. UGH!) It’s true. Even the horrific acting on the Lifetime network (which I was watching for weekends at a time) was moving me to tears. Thankfully, being the intellectual thinker that I like to think I am, during my last weekend of moping, between a morning of “Black History Month movies” (read: any movie with a black main character) and an afternoon of “we met on the internet and they tried to kill me movies,” I realized it was finally time for me to not only move on to, but to also clearly define my recovery.
In the week leading up to my big 2-8 I made a few promises to myself. 1) I will never allow other people to define how far I go in life. 2) I will stop sitting on the talents God gave me. 3) I will embrace the plan He has set forth for my life and actively work towards the future I envisioned 4) I will make a ridiculously large sign and wake up extra early to spend my morning on the TODAY Plaza for my birthday. Which leads me to “today” (after an extended evening nap I’m a little delayed with my entry -being on time was never my strong suit )… Not only did my sign grab the attention of Al Roker (my favorite TODAY anchor) and producers of the show, it made “national news” (I’m using this term loosely) and was even tweeted by my managing editor (kinda cool).
In the future I still want the baby, husband house (did I mention money?) I always dreamed about in my younger years, but today I celebrate where I am, the wisdom I’ve gained and the amazing experiences that are sure to come my way. It wasn’t my ideal life at 28, but you know what… these things happen.
THESE THINGS HAPPEN. 
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