a quarter ‘til timeless
embracing the present, cultivating community, and living without regret at 25
On the west coast, my birthday is still ringing true. I stepped into a new age today, fully grateful for every single milestone I’ve locked in to date. Every breath of fresh air my lungs have pulled in. Satisfied with the way things have turned out more than OK for me. And to wrap it all up? I am more than grateful for the community God has blessed me to sit in this newly aged-like-fine-wine gratitude with.
Growing up, I struggled to let people love me beyond words. I could offer literary reassurances effortlessly, but when love manifested in action—even in the smallest ways—I felt discomfort. It was as if receiving love meant accepting that it came with labor, and that thought unsettled me.
Despite dedicating much of my life to going the extra mile for others, allowing that same devotion to be extended to me felt wrong. I didn’t understand why people would travel for me. Prioritize me. Center me.
As I write this from seat 30F on an American Airlines flight to Dallas, en route to my sister's dental school graduation, I chuckle at the irony. Even on a day I've chosen to turn a new leaf, I've made space for others. In this moment, I sit in awe, realizing that this endless loop of showing up for others is the timeless gift. Even when I'm the one being shown up for, I reciprocate—without hesitation—for those who blur the lines between time and tether. For those whose presence anchors my present and gifts my future.
We pour into others not for the promise of return, but because we are vessels of grace, ever spilling what life has given. On our birthdays, we are not merely replenished—we are reminded. Each year is a quiet filling, so we might continue to give, to love, to overflow without begging or asking to be poured into.
Reflecting on my 24th year, I find myself whole, grateful, and free from regret. I am living among the community I hold close—a timeless measure of the seeds I've sown in my lifetime. They flourish because I've threaded the needle.
In one of my favorite songs, "Velvet Rope" by Janet Jackson, she explores our human need for connection. I sing, "We have a special need to feel that we belong..." and am reminded that beyond my fears, I still long to be seen, known, and accepted by those I love. But I also know that this special need can only be explored past the rope, past the image, past the old versions of myself that have not allowed me to accept love in return.
With 25, the velvet rope I've held around my quest for requited love loosens. I work to slowly ignite the passionate, quiet pulse that allows people to take up space in my life without guilt. I'm learning to belong against the races of time because I've raced time for others without hesitation.
In this new age, I am learning to love my community timelessly, giving them the space to do it in return.
As my birthday draws to a close, I'm filled with gratitude that time has returned to me timelessly—bringing with it a community that measures moments not in hours, but in hearts. In their presence, the day didn't merely end; it deepened.
As I get older, birthdays feel more than mere markers of time; they are profound reflections of the love we've sown throughout our lives. Each year, as we celebrate another trip around the sun, we are reminded not just of the passage of time, but of the relationships we've nurtured, the kindness we've extended, and the connections we've forged.
They are boundless measures of the love we deserve—not because of what we've accomplished, but because of the love we've freely given. They are a celebration of our capacity to love and be loved, a reminder that our worth is not defined by what we have, but by what we share.
Cheers to a new year.