Turning 30 was hard on me- but not for the typical, superficial reason.
I’d been living in flat farmland, in the home that was rented with intention of being my peaceful salvation. I was trying to heal from a past relationship riddled with lies and addiction, while being violently pursued by a different, relentless addict. I was trying to make financial ends meet at yet another law firm that I hated. The few unsuspecting relatives I invited to celebrate my birthday with me unapologetically left me on read. I was functioning through the motions of life- trying to convince myself on a daily basis that it wasn’t that bad. That friendships and relationships were just “that” way. Exhausting. Disappointing. That I was simply being “too picky” with the way I expected to be treated. Considered. Appreciated. Trying to convince myself it probably wouldn’t always be this way. Holding hope that my life probably wouldn’t always look like this. There’s probably a better chapter coming. Maybe.
Hopefully.
I remember feeling overwhelmed by the endless list of things I wanted to change about my life. Overwhelmed that somehow, I was worse off at 30 than I was at 25.
By the end of that year, things around me began to rapidly unravel. I remember taking solace in the thought, “well at least it couldn’t possibly get any worse.”
By my 31st birthday, I was down to bare bones.
No stable housing. No job. No car.
No family. No support system.
Just me & my farm of animals… and the confidence that I could do anything I wanted from this point forward.
I could make my life anything I wanted.
Everything I hated had already been undone.
Turning 35 this week was an unimaginable gift. Effortlessly navigating the life, I once thought was unrealistic. Walking the path I once thought was unattainable. Existing comfortably in the vision of the life I once cried myself to sleep over.
On the morning of my 35th birthday, I woke up in the El Dorado National Forest, in the back of my 4Runner, in a campsite we chose on whim, next to the love of my life that I met 2 years ago to the day. Coming home from camping to our beautiful ranch; the shared home to our healthy feathered and furry babes. I took a few days off work from my job in healthcare (that I took an absolute leap of faith to get), to work on my springtime tan instead. I made a few pastry orders for my bakery business and a savory loaf of bread for lunches throughout the week.
Thinking back on the years that led me here often feels like a fever dream. It feels like recalling someone else’s memories. Someone else’s story.
I wake up grateful each and every day that nothing about my life looks remotely similar to how it did 5 years ago. Grateful I was able to see and acknowledge that the misalignment I had been living in did not need to shape my future. Grateful I was able to ride the waves of destruction without perishing in it. Grateful I had the competency and resiliency to keep moving until I found home. Grateful I had the courage to release the false, heavy bonds I believed were friends and family.
Grateful I was able to finally enter into a softer life of alignment, fulfillment, gratitude, and being properly and endlessly cared for and loved.
Grateful that I am exactly who I had in mind 5 years ago.
Wild Little Hare 