Yesterday I reached the quarter century mark and as far as birthdays go, it seems a bit significant. My friend joked Do you feel older and wiser? Hardly! But I will say I’ve learned more about myself in the past year than the previous 20 something combined and for that, the day was of wonderful significance.
On my 25th birthday I awoke in the middle of the night to birthday wishes from my love. The challenges that presented itself couldn’t take away from the pure joy that I felt as a result of that.
On my 25th birthday we indulged in a brunch whose decadence can be justified only on a birthday (or average Saturday, truth be told). I belted out my version of my favorite old tunes that blared over the speakers at the restaurant. Sipping far to many coffees we left, hand in hand and took a leisurely stroll through the city arriving at L’s job where I kissed him goodbye and continued on.
On my 25th birthday I let myself, for the first time, feel no pressure to do something of great proportion just because it was my birthday. Instead I gathered the ingredients for cupcakes (because nothing tops homemade, nothing), stopped at the liquor store for prosecco and cassis and head on home.
On my 25th birthday I spent the afternoon wandering the Italian market, buying myself small gifts from my favorite kitchen supply store and laughing at how simple I really am. I laughed until I cried in an exchange at my favorite butcher wherein they teased the older man wrapping up my filet about my answer to his proposal for a date. He, the first person I ever responded with “I’m 25” to.
On my 25th birthday I spent the evening drinking kir, dancing in my kitchen and making my favorite meal. And cupcakes.
In other words, on my 25th birthday I realized it’s okay to be simple in your pleasures. And it’s sure as hell okay to be imperfectly happy.