"I guess you can't follow up a praise with a 'but', can you?," said the almost-birthday girl.
That would be me. A year ago, as Facebook thought was appropriate to remind me tonight, I was packed and ready to move to Maryland and start graduate school at GW. The 2009-2010 school year was one of great expectation, disappointment, and then finally, reassuring clarity I prayed for, but never really knew what the answer to that prayer would look like. 2010-2011 answered that question...so, what was clarity?
It was 15 hours in a car ride with my daddy, who drove me up to the DMV. Hours stacked up, like an arsenal of love, to buffer the times when I wish I could hang out with him, but am too far away to snuggle into my reserved spot on his shoulder while watching NCIS.
It was my first apartment, completely furnished, and more affordable and spacious than any grad student deserves.
It was a grade point average valedictorians are envious of, and course material I was impassioned about. Who likes going to class? Celeste does.
It was finding a new hobby, in performing spoken word, and enjoying the sound of applause after the echo of my own words fades from the speakers.
Among the many blessings, I faced some of the greatest challenges I have ever faced in my young adult life. No close friends or family near by, I was forced to the front lines in the war many people lose each day- being myself. Orlando was training camp, and Washington D.C. was the battleground.
To the victor go the spoils.
I'm writing this between sips (straight from the bottle) from a new wine I bought at Trader Joe's on my first shopping trip to the grocery store as a resident of the District. White Lambrusco is bringing in the year of 23- the year of anti-cavalier. I don't have time or patience to act as if every day is not crucial to becoming more of who (whom?) I am destined to be. 23- the year of paying attention- to my school work, to my networth, to the relationships I want to keep, and the relationships I want to build. 23- the year I applied to medical school, took the MCAT twice (as of Tuesday afternoon), and realized no matter what it takes, being a doctor is all I want to be. 23- the year I finally opened myself up to exploring romance, and whether or not it works out, I can tell you already, I'm glad I took that leap of faith.
I tried to complain about being by myself on my birthday. Tried to gripe about not being sure if a birthday cake, card, and presents would arrive by the 20th at midnight. I tried to be ungrateful and somber, and wayyyy too poetic about what is and will remain the most simple and blessed fact of today: that I am here, another year, another day, another moment to experience all that is laid out for me to see. I didn't know that this is how I would bring in my 23rd birthday, and the way this bottle is being drained, who knows what will happen by midnight? But, I'll tell you one thing- I'm not drinking to hide from reality. I'm toasting the truth- that I'm happy to be alive, and continuing to find that clarity I asked God for a long time ago.
If you're still reading this rant, know that you too can be as deliberate and deep and poetic as you want about your birthday. But, dude. You may not have much time to be sad. There's no guarantee you'll have another one, so reflect on where you've been and step boldly to where you're going. I promise, you won't be alone on the way. We're all just out here figuring out what's next. Toast to your damn self, and live life as if everyday was the anniversary of your glorious arrival on earth.
So cheers. (sip sip) Happy Birthday, Celeste.
