I find myself here, on the genesis of my thirty-first birthday. This is meaningful for me because it is here, on the butt of my Thirtieth year, that I give up on “finding myself”.
I have hoped, in all these years, to become better acquainted, more familiar, and strongly unified with this idea of “who I am”.
Something it has taken me this many years to understand, and something [surely] no one besides me cares about, is that concerning myself with “who I am” might just be an unavailing examination. How am I to unify with a changing force such as myself?
I don’t boast changes like the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, nor am I referring to the imminent menopausal phase of life. I’m describing the encounters, the characters, the challenges, the gratification, the furtherance—the growth that happens to us —the change that propels us forward.
So here I am. My life has been replete of characters, challenges, encounters, gratification, and furtherance. I sit here, waiting to turn thirty-one…waiting for more. Not caring “who I am”, only caring that I am.
