I seem to always reflect on things around my birthday. I know perhaps it makes more sense to do so as the old year is on its way out and the new year is being ushered in; to evaluate and make resolutions based on things I want for myself and things I would rather not have repeated. But for me, I would rather mark the passing of another year of my life by turning inwards now; I turned twenty-eight at this time a year ago and now I am turning twenty-nine. And what a difference a year makes.
Last year, as I became that much older, I was not sure where I was going. It had taken me seven months, but I finally felt like I was back to my old self. I had gotten over my first serious relationship, the love of my life, and my friends all said the same thing: "it was good to see me happy again". But because of how I had been feeling for months, I knew my life needed a change. Whether it was going to be sticking with my doctoral programme, moving to another state for a job or moving home, or even moving country, I was not sure. I was weighing things over and just trying to figure it all out as I celebrated making it to the milestone.
When I did finally figure things out, I was scared. I had weighed all my options and kept coming to the same conclusion: I needed to be in another country. I wanted to move to England, I wanted to give things a try - far enough away from everything I had become accustomed to. I wanted to see if I could be 'adult' - whatever that meant to me at the time - and make it on my own. So, I got the permission to live and travel to England, I sold everything I could, and stored everything I did not want to get rid off. And I bid my friends and family goodbye, even my dog Cam, and moved across the ocean to settle somewhere new.
And it was strange. I felt like I had moved here to prove something to myself, but also to prove something to my ex. That the plans I had made with him, the things that I considered important, would still stay with me. That even if he never believed that I could do this, I knew that I could and I had. So, I landed in England not sure if I would find a job or a place to live or so many other things, but hopefully that I could make it through.
And I had the support of family that I knew, but had never gotten the chance to know well. It was strange, suddenly being far away from all the family I had grown up with and knew well over the last twenty-eight years and then suddenly finding family again, and getting to know them for the first time. I am glad for it. I would never have spent so much time with my nephew had I not moved here nor would I have gotten to know my cousins as well as I did. And spending time with them meant I realized that I wanted what they had: a strong marriage, mutual respect and love, and wonderful children. A good life. Maybe not perfect, as I think nothing ever really is, but perfect for them.
And after getting to know my family well, spending time with them and their friends, I started to branch out on my own. I wanted to meet people that were a bit more similar to me and not related by blood. And so I made friends at work. My co-workers started out as people I could go and grab a drink with after work in the student union (happens when you work on a university campus) or get lunch away from my desk with to people I confided in and trusted. And as I got to know them, they introduced me to their friends. And so on and so on. And I felt like I belonged in London...I felt like I was making a home here.
Feeling more at home here made me realize I needed a home of my own. So, with that in mind and some money in hand from the job, I finally got my own place. Somewhere I could call home, somewhere I wanted to come back to at the end of the day. And somewhere that Cam would be happy. Because I knew that she would be in my life again soon enough, though it felt like it would be too long for me, no matter how short the time. And once I had my home, I started to really feel like a Londoner. So I made friends, I joined groups, and I found S1L (Single in London). And out of that, I have made so many friends - too many to count.
And throughout the last four months, I have fallen in like, I have fallen in lust, and I have fallen in love. I have found all three in one person, and I have lost. I have gained friends from different walks of life, with different outlooks and pursuits and passions but sharing the one common element that matters most: integrity. Depth of feeling. And I have rediscovered friends I thought I had lost - friends who came to me when I needed them and have not let me go since.
And as I look back over my year, that is what stands out to me. All the friends who have made it the year it was. Those who I have known for decades and those who I have known for months. The ones who encouraged me to pursue my life, no matter where it led, and the ones who hold my hand or my head when my life is not as happy as it could be. The ones I can call on at any time of day or night, and the ones who offer me advice or simply observations about where I have been and where I am going. It is my friends who make me what I am, not the things I have been through. Because the milestones in my life would be meaningless without people to share them with, people to help me understand them, and people to create new milestones with. So perhaps as I celebrate this year - being older, wiser, more sure of myself yet never knowing my path - I will celebrate with friends. Without them, I could not be where or who I am. And without them, I would not have reason to celebrate.
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