Yup, that’s right. Another journey completed. 41 and counting!
I love birthdays, a delight I’ve never lost as I aged. After all, what’s not to like about a day where everyone tells you how happy they are that you’re still alive and gives you presents and takes you out to dinner? Birthdays are awesome. Sometimes there’s even cake.
They’re also a good chance to reflect back and dream ahead. 40 was a big year for me. I had some pretty major Life stuff going on, faced some serious fears, and generally did a lot of growing as a person. I like that I’m still growing up and learning in midlife. In fact, in many ways, I think I’m doing more of that as I approach middle age than I did in my formative years. Every year is a formative one, eh? I like that.
The last year was also a very exciting one for my career. I hit an important writing milestone when I signed with the brilliant Sarah LaPolla of Bradford Literary agency, taking me one step closer to what I’ve been working so hard for: publishing novel-length works. I’ve been writing a long time, but it is only in the last year or so that I’ve really begun to feel a sort of confidence in my abilities (albeit tempered with the requisite dosage of fear, self-loathing, and anxiety with which all writers must contend). When I look back on that fateful year (now seemingly so long ago) that I decided to prioritize writing fiction over pursuing a tenure-track job in academia, I have zero regrets. It isn’t that this road has been any easier, but it has made me a lot happier. Hard to argue with that.
So, what will 41 hold? Well, it’d be great if I got a book deal. That would make 41 my Best Year Ever. Regardless, though, I know I’ll be doing a lot of writing. Also, there will be (must be!) travel. I want to spend more time with family and I want to cut negative things out of my life as much as possible. I want 41 to be the year of positive.
Mostly, I look forward to all the surprises the next year of life will hold. I know they’re coming, and that some will be delightful and some crushingly awful (that’s life, after all), and I welcome them.
Bring it on, 41!