Happy birthday to me

On the day I turned 21, I somehow found myself sitting alone in the locker room of my college gym, reflecting on my momentous birthday, and I suddenly burst into tears. I'm 21 years-old, I thought, and I've never done anything...and I never will. It was one of those self-absorbed revelations only a college kid can have. 

Here I sit 27 years later, at what could certainly be considered a momentous time in my life, and feel...at peace. I've backpacked through Zimbabwe. I've worked with truly gifted people. I married an amazing man. We are raising twin boys, our miracle babies, who both endlessly challenge and entertain us. Together, the four of us made a life for three years in France and traveled to more countries than we ever thought we would. I even know how to tell someone off in a language other than English. 

When Paul and I first got married, we used to talk about our five-year plan, ten-year plan. Some goals we met. Some we didn't. Unexpected disappointments were matched with fortuitous opportunities. Regardless, Paul has this endearing habit of grabbing my hand, grinning at me and saying, "We win."

I don't know what the next year holds for me, but do any of us, really?  We could all still be here in twenty years...or not. I'm having a great life and I am blessed to be sharing it with wonderful people. I hope to be here on this earth for another 48 years, but even if I'm not, I win. 

Happy Birthday to me.