I adore birthdays. I love that we each get a day that's all about us. That there's one day where shameless, joyful celebration is not simply allowed, but encouraged. (I usually push the limits and give myself 3 days of birthdayness. It's that much fun.)
|Palmers at birthday #27.|
But I have to be honest, the week leading up to my own birthday is usually messy. I think too much (I realize I do this all the time, but pre-birthday-thinking is heightened analyzation) I have started my usual questioning of if where I am this year is better than where (and who) I was on the cusp of 27.
Did I grow enough? Am I proud of my actions and reactions? Am I stronger and wiser? Have I learned new things? Have I been a better citizen, a kinder friend, a more conscientious sister? Have I smiled more, complained less, loved a whole bunch and celebrated wild adventures?
|(You'll have to excuse me for being overly reflective.)|
And it's all here. I can read it, notice how in 2010 I was a funnier writer, realize that most of the photos I've taken of myself are ridiculous (many examples provided for you in this post) and marvel at just how much fun this year has been.
In the next 4 days I'll highlight some of my favorite parts of year 27, reveal the big list of 28 (hotly anticipated I'm sure) and probably write more overly personal and terribly grateful sentences.
I just hope I write like it's 2010 again.