Tonight as the clock struck twelve I happened to be driving down Sunset Boulevard with two great friends. It was the best possible transition from my 28th year to my 29th. My last 28-year-old day involved good coffee, an improv class, an evening improv show, brussels sprouts, and seeing two movies in the same movie theater. My day was the definition of being an adult, but being that kind of adult that isn't really tied down and has a lot of freedom to still act like a college student (I mean, two movies in a day?! Ant Man and Trainwreck, if you were wondering). I loved every second of my irresponsible, unencumbered, twenty-something summer day.
As fun as today was, I also managed to ponder my mortality as many of us do when another birthday approaches. Unfortunately (more often than fortunately) I am a human who fixates on my outlandish dreams without taking tangible steps to approach them. I go into spirals of self-doubt and worry because I interpret that my inability to turn my dreams into something real RIGHT NOW means that I will never do anything that makes an impact or makes me truly happy. This carries over to many areas of my life. It challenges my husband who hates to see me beat myself up. It makes me fear my future. It makes me resentful of the present. Being a dreamer has the potential to do way more harm than good.
This year, I hope that when I examine my life for progress I will truly see it. I will be able to identify the steps I'm actually taking to live with abandon (and by "live with abandon" I mean I will probably still go to bed every night at a reasonable hour). This year I will write, because I say I want to be a writer. This year I will share what I create with others, because feedback, while not always necessary, can aid in growth. This year I will (TRYYYY) to trust my skills as an improviser and acknowledge that being a female comedienne is difficult but by no means impossible. Most of all, on Saturdays when I accidentally sleep in too late, I'm going to TRY REALLY HARD to not let it ruin my day. Some days can't be devoted to the "Great American Novel" because you just need to be a bum and sleep for ten hours... followed by binge-watching Parks and Rec.