Today I turn 33.
So many major life events have happened in this past year: finding our forever home, taking on a massive renovation, moving states, Matt starting a new job, Millie starting and stopping daycare (twice), welcoming our son, navigating a COVID world with littles, adjusting to becoming a family of four (+2 crazier-than-ever doggos), juggling motherhood with huge milestones in my startup.
Life feels big and full right now, and it often feels chaotic, and even overwhelming. But amidst all the “big” happening, it’s the small moments that I cherish and remember most when reflecting on my year of being 32.
I’ll remember taking Millie to Jamaica Pond almost every day last summer – our one chance to get out of the house and experience some normalcy. We tweeted with every bird and waved hello to every neighbor we passed. I listened to dozens of audiobooks while she snoozed in the stroller. I fell in love with our neighborhood all over again on those walks.
I’ll remember planning and executing a stone pathway in the side yard at Wyman street with Matt, the pride of ownership we felt at completing a big project outside of our comfort zone. The joy of doing it together.
I’ll remember the look on Matt’s face when I told him we were pregnant. Joy and surprise and pride. I’ll remember the tears we shared when the doctor told us it was a boy. Just the two of us sitting on our bed with our arms wrapped around each other.
I’ll remember the discussions about our future. Late nights with wine in hand, and five mile treks through the city on Saturday mornings. Deciding what was next, talking about our family, our careers, our goals, our legacy. Dreaming big. Understanding each other better. Changing our minds and our plans together. Falling deeper in love and strengthening our bond as we leaned on each other to weather the pandemic.
I’ll remember endless laughter with friends and family over Zoom. Theme parties, game nights, espresso martinis. I remember the rare outdoor meetups that came to mean the world to me. The hunt for the best takeout in Boston. A renewed commitment to supporting local businesses. A new kinship with our neighbors.
I’ll remember the fear too.
Fear for the health and safety of those closest to us. Fear of the unknown and the future. Fear of what others would think if our beliefs and decisions differed from theirs. Fear of being stuck at home, and then fear of being asked to reintegrate into society. Fear of what we would see and feel when forced to be alone with ourselves and with each other.
I’ll remember letting go of expectations in a way I’ve never previously accomplished. Putting pride aside, genuinely not having the time, energy or capacity to care what others think of me or my decisions. Redefining success in a way that felt authentic to me. I’ll remember the relief that followed.
I'll remember our first night in this house, all sleeping in one room – Matt and I on a mattress on the floor. Eating pizza in an empty living room. Using flashlights because we couldn’t figure out the light switches. I’ll remember waking up to the blinding sunrise, the sound of waves and smell of salt water.
I’ll remember the tears that fell, the overwhelming feeling of being home.
I’ll remember my precious girl, Emilia, astounding me daily with her wit and inspiring me with her fierce confidence. Reminding me with every hug that life is nothing without the people we love at our side. Reminding me that “joie de vivre” isn’t just a romantic saying – it is a way of living that I choose to fully embrace. Because, why shouldn’t I?
I’ll remember seeing my children together in these early days. The tenderness in Millie’s touch, the awe in James’ gaze. The way he lights up when he hears her nearby. The way he calms when she sings to him. Their bond as magical as I could ever had hoped, right from the very beginning.
I’ll remember eating what makes my body feel good. I’ll remember dancing with my husband under the stars. I’ll remember throwing away most of my makeup. I’ll remember genuinely not caring about the number on the scale, or the number of wrinkles on my forehead. I’ll remember relishing the fresh air and sunshine. I’ll remember deciding that I needed to get back to the ocean. I’ll remember us making that happen for our family.
I won’t just remember these things, I will hold on to them.
This last year has been an exercise in redefining myself and my life. This is who I am now, in some ways it feels like I've returned to who I always was. Another pandemic silver lining: getting to know myself at a deep, pure level and finding the courage to listen to my inner voice without distraction. Deciding what is true for me and figuring out how to live in accordance with that truth.
Today I turn 33.
Today also marks exactly 6 months of waking up in our dream house on the ocean. When I was younger and thought about what life would look like at 33, it did not look like anything like this. In my young mind, my thirties all looked like some version of a floor-to-ceiling windowed penthouse in New York or London. Sleek white furniture, me dressed in all black with a chic center part, drinking coffee, staring out massive windows overlooking the city.
Instead today I woke up to a screaming baby needing to be fed. My toddler also screamed at me before 8 am. I was spit up on and I changed diapers. I stubbed my toe on a loose floor board. I did laundry. I attended work meetings while breastfeeding. My five minute shower was interrupted. I didn’t get to take a nap as I had hoped, and I didn’t get to drink my coffee in silence while gazing over an urban landscape.
But here’s the thing: I’ve already lived in London and New York. I’ve had apartments with walls of windows. I’ve enjoyed many hot, silent cups of coffee. The image I had in my mind of my life at this age was beautiful and serene, but it wasn’t what I ultimately wanted. The black and white, clean life that I envisioned was an empty one, a life that I would (and did) trade for the colorful mess I now call my own.
And a center-part just doesn’t look right on me, anyway.
Last night, as he rubbed my feet (a generous perk of pregnancy that I continue to milk for as long as possible afterward) Matt asked me about my wishes for the upcoming year. I have a lot of goals for 33, but only one real wish:
I wish to remember.
I wish to remember to slow down and be fully present to appreciate all the little moments that have come to mean so much to me over this past year. I wish to remember these moments I’ve cherished as well as the lessons I’ve learned, to not allow whatever “new normal” looks like to pull me back into a pace of life over which I have no control. I wish to remember the joy of the simple things in life and the fulfillment found in quiet days with my family, pride of ownership when working on home projects, and sense of purpose when throwing myself into my career.
I will remember this past year and all of its unexpected twists and turns with a smile on my face. And most importantly, I will remember to look around me at all of the reasons I have to smile every single day of 33 and beyond.
-CJK
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