more me
Whenever I think of my birthdays in the past, the song lyric "it's my party, and I'll cry if I want to" often echoes in my mind. As a young Libra with a flare for the dramatic, I had an affinity for expecting extravagant, perfectly planned parties to celebrate. But, whether it was at the tender age of 8, the milestone of 16, or the long-anticipated 21, I somehow always ended up in the same place—crying alone in my bedroom (usually with the lights off and some sad music playing, in true moody, libra fashion).
Sometimes it was the party not going exactly as planned, or the boy I liked not noticing me, or another year passing while I remained single and seemingly stagnant. Sometimes feeling a certain loneliness even amongst friends at my own party… I was supposed to be having fun, so why wasn’t I?
Luckily, this trend seems to have faded as time passes in my 20s. But combine that history with the fact that our society is obsessesd with youth, using comments like “30 is right around the corner!” or “enjoy it while it lasts,” along with those like “when are you getting married or having kids?” or “time is ticking!” (as if they can’t decide if we should grow up or stay young forever), I thought I would have a bit of anxiety as I inched towards 30.
Yet as I reflect on my 27th year, and look forward to my 28th, I feel nothing but pride for what has passed and excitement for what’s to come.
27 felt like a big year for me. My business turned 5. I spoke at my first big event. I started dancing again, throwing myself into it without restraint. I got bangs. I went to Bali and fell in love with the country and culture (even if I didn’t find the love of my life like the movies promised.) I went to concerts. I happily celebrated friends getting married and having babies. I started boxing. I re-discovered and re-defined rest and play. I produced content I am proud of. I spent late nights chatting with friends, new and old. I spent nights alone dancing around the house. I spent nights alone and lonely. I cried. I screamed. I healed. I laughed. I went to therapy. I got diagnosed with ADHD and started medication. I taught about 400 hours of Pilates classes and private sessions and countless community, soul filling events. I went on so many “hot girl walks”. I quit drinking. I took naps. I reconnected with my body and started listening more closely to her wisdom. And somewhere through all of that, the moments big and small, I started feeling more like ME than ever before.
I think back to those earlier versions of me at their respective milestones—13, 16, 18, and 21-year-old me—and contemplate what they'd think of me and my life today. They'd see me expressing myself more authentically than ever, on fire for what I do, surrounded by an amazing community, and doing things they once wished for but were too hesitant or self-conscious to pursue. And they are really f**king proud. It’s like they are standing there saying “ Hell yeah, she’s fucking doing it!” (ok well maybe the younger versions would’ve said it differently but you get the point), and excited to experience it all with me. And while can't predict what 30, 40, or even 80-year-old me will look like, I know they are with me too, watching and thinking, "She's exactly where she's supposed to be, and I can't wait for her to see what comes next— it's better than she can even imagine.”
I can’t wait to meet the 28, 30, and 40-year-old versions of me, to see who she has become, what her life looks like, and how she continues to evolve. Not because I want time to fly by… I want to soak up every second. But because I know that with every passing year, I will become more ME.
So, as I approach this year's birthday, I have a strong feeling that there won't be any tears. Just a celebration of my evolving, authentic self, and the anticipation of the wonderful, messy journey ahead.
xoxo, Ali
