Dear Self, As of today, I am twenty-three years old. I don’t know how many years I’ve been writing these birthday entries now. Probably somewhere around ten years or so. Each time I do, there is something new to be found or learned. This year is by far no exception. My life has taken a turn. I can’t say for better or for worse yet, but it’s changing and I genuinely love it. I’m paving a new road for myself, so to speak, and it makes me full of joy to no end at the thought of where it’ll take me – even if it takes me someplace miserable. I have overcome serious health problems and personal problems and the loss of friendships this past year. But everything has a purpose, so I can’t be too upset. My health is good now, things are starting to settle down, and I so very genuinely love the people in my life. I have so many honest-to-God friends. It’s beautiful. I’m getting older. I’m growing up. Even at the young age I am, it seems like I’m so much older. Getting out of bed is a process. My joints yell at me constantly. I’m always tired. Working and life have taken so much out of me the last year or so but I have no regrets. I work hard, play quietly and enjoy the scenery. The love I share is deep and genuine and those who misunderstand my intentions are just a waste of my time. I’m going from woman-child to just...woman. It’s scary and beautiful. I can honestly say I have never felt so content with life. Even despite the problems, the nonsense, the sickness, the...well, the bullshit... I’m happy. Because it’s mine, no one else’s, and I’m honored to have it all. The good, the bad, the in-between and the something-else-entirely. It makes life worth living. It makes each birthday a gift. I am blessed beyond words. Really and truly. Happy Birthday, Self. Just remember to keep your heart up with your chin. Regret nothing. Learn from everything. Here’s to another year. Make it last, and make it wonderful. -Summer, age 23