DAY 325
after 489 years of being 29— today, i’m thirty.
every birthday prior to this one, i’ve made a big mothafuckin’ stink. i needed everyone to know it was time to pay attention to me. it was MY birthday month; there has always been a countdown to the day— my birthday eve eve, then my birthday eve, then MY birthDAY.
but today i write to you from a hotel room in Lisbon. on Sunday, i set sail for a 7 day cruise with my family through Spain and Northern Africa.
historically, i have drank my face off on every cruise ship i have ever set foot on. my first cruise i drank on was in the Mediterranean after graduating from high school, and it was only my third time drinking. i took three shots in under 2 minutes with a girl from Memphis and said, “I always black out when I do this” and then I blacked out, only to come to while vomiting so hard that i popped an eye blood vessel. on our last family cruise to Cuba to 2018, i drank Stella’s all night and sang karaoke so vigorously and passionately that people came up to me at the pool the day after as i drank my daily pina colada and ate my daily hot dog to tell me that i had “made their trip”. i spent my final night chain smoking Romeo y Juliet cigars with a bunch of Upstate New York dudes i never spoke to again, only to break out in hives all over my body as we docked in Miami— confused as to why i was so itchy.
And today, I’m marching around Lisbon triggered as fuck. I forgot that there everything is delicious here— wine and liquor included. At home, I’m so grossed out by using culture— here, it’s cultured.
all of this is to say: historically, i’ve been a mini Benjamin Franklin, flouncing around like a loose prince abroad. And I’m having a very hard time fighting my urges. But I will because I’m not interested in doing what I’ve always done.
but idk, man: i’m exhausted, i am so very tired. and it was only when i received Jen’s birthday text this morning that things were put into perspective for me.
i’m tired with reason— my Saturn Return hit HARD, truly grabbing me by the neck and whipping me around. i have done a lot of growing this year, and maybe it’s okay not to be the belle of the ball.
maybe it’s okay to be tired.
i’m starting to see the profound change that has occurred in me this year. it all happened in tiny millimeters— fractions of millimeters, really— but when i look back, i can see: i am hella different. even just how i’m handling my birthday today— it just feels like another day.
but i think it nods to how i live my life: each day, i am present. i don’t want for that one day a year to feel special. i don’t need external validation to be whole. i’m alive for all of it, even if it’s uncomfortable. but mostly, it’s all juicy.
but i can say: i feel do excitement, staring down another decade, sober.
[okay but also, the other day a 22 year old told me i look 20— so fastidious skincare and sunscreen since the age of 12 has paid off. ]
20 Things I’m Ready To Leave Behind In My Twenties
Booze / Weed/ Illicit Substances— obvi duh got that
Imposter Syndrome: so tired of feeling like i don’t belong or that i don’t deserve to be where i am or where i want to be
anything that drains my energy— people, places, or things
no longer putting up with relationships that drain me of my dignity, my will to live, or my energy— if you ain’t actively adding, you substractin’, honey!!!
staying later than i want to— gonna start leaving the minute i wanna go
staying up later than i want to because i’m afraid of missing out or hurting someone’s feelings
going because i’m afraid of missing out or saying “no”
FOMO— BY FOMO! FUCK YOU, FOMO !
saying “yes” when my body screams “NO”
the word “should”
telling people what i think they should do— what right do i have to tell them what’s right for them? (unless they’re paying me to, of course)
pretending that i like watching tv more than i like reading books
hating my body— or, letting people talk shit about their bodies around me (see #3)
i refuse to put anything and everything above my own creative practice— i refuse to put my paid work or what other people need before my own creative life. i vow to treat my creativity and the time i set aside for it like a sacred space
pretending to be okay when i’m not okay
pretending in any capacity— pretending is a form of self-betrayal; we don’t do inauthentic around these parts
simulating productivity for fear of not being enough or doing enough
losing myself for fear of losing a relationship— no relationship is worth losing myself in the process
self-betrayal— we don’t do that no more, honey!!!
fear of being alone
turns out, i actually really love being alone
comparing myself to others— mind, body, soul, career, relationship, marriage, etc.
caring what or people think
unrealistic expectations/ expectations of any kind
anyway, i’m thirty— finally. been the longest freakin’ year of my life.
not asking for what i’m worth
well, i’m gonna take a nap now because it’s insanely early in my head and i’m officially old. i love you and thank you for subscribing, reading, sharing, liking, or commenting.
feel free to do it all:
ALL MY LOVE,
PAULINA
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