This week I turn 34. Thirty freakin’ four. To some, it’s young. To others, it’s old. To me, its a complete reminder of where I am not.

I’ve never really liked my birthday. Well, that’s not true. I used to like it. I, like most people, got excited about it at least a week in advance. And then I became an adult. An adult in a long bad relationship, followed by an adult that was single for a long period of time. So birthdays became a disappointment. They were a reminder that I was special to no one. I would get all excited and want it to be a big deal, and then the day would come and I would feel completely worthless cause no one cared or made it special. I spent most adult birthdays crying. Is that not sad and pathetic or what? So the birthday excitement has now turned to birthday anxiety a week before the big day. I don’t want to be sad. I don’t want to feel forgotten. I almost want to pretend that it is not even happening. That way there is no disappointment. But we know, as much as I try to pretend that it is not my birthday, I will be ever so aware.

And the world makes me aware too. I am 34 and single. I do not have kids. We all start to wonder why. No one looks at the fact that you have a great career, a house, fabulous friends, get to travel and are starting your own business. No, none of that matters. No one walks up to a woman and asks “What do you do?” like they do men. They ask “Are you married? Do you have kids?” instead. As if that is all that is important. As if that is all that should define me. But maybe they are right, is that all that is important to me? Because, I too have wondered why that is. I have started to think maybe I am too picky and should settle. I wonder if I missed my soulmate. I hate to admit it, but I have even asked myself “did God forget me?” I feel pretty terrible about that one. I am so blessed, of course he never forgot me.

As 34 approaches, I have to evaluate what I really want. It’s almost like my options are being taken from me. I told myself that I wouldn’t have kids after 35. Well, I better meet someone fast if that’s the case. Will I adjust the age cutoff for myself? Do I want to be in my fifties when my kids are in high school? Should I freeze my eggs? Should I just have a baby with a friend? How did I miss this baby boat anyways?! They are being popped out left and right. And here I am, trying to do it in the right order, now afraid that I missed my chance. I now feel like time is taking away that option. I wasn’t ready for that. While I was just trying to live, the time took advantage of me. It wasn’t the path I planned. But let’s be honest, it never is.

So this week, I think about what 34 looks like for me. Is that the only life I can imagine? Is that the only life for me? Where else can I picture myself? How else can it be? I’m just a girl trying to live.

Happy birthday to me.

(I apologize for the depressing blog. This life is a crazy beautiful ride, and sometimes that ride is rough)