35

I was going to write a monthly wrap-up for July, but July just whizzed by. Seriously, what's up with the flow of time this year? It feels like everything is just zipping by faster and faster. Some highlights from July were: time with friends, Barbie, a spontaneous trip down to Colorado Springs for a night, and... I don't know, avoiding the heat? Oof.

Anyway, that's not what this post is about. This post is about me turning thirty-five (five days ago). Like a good Leo (I don't believe in astrology stuff, but it's fun to use it as an excuse for bad behavior), I like to make things about myself. I also like seeing folks post their own cool "here was another revolution around the sun" posts where they jaw on about what went down in their year and what's coming up next — so here I am.

Sort of a tangent, but I've always enjoyed attaching meaning to arbitrary dates. January 1st resolutions? Sign me up. The beginning of a month? Oh boy. My birthday? A Monday? What better magical dates to start some random initiative from (instead of just starting, ya know, gotta wait until the stars align)?

Let's get back on track. I'm another year older, now heading closer to 40 than not.

How do I feel about that? I'm not sure.

On paper, it's kinda freaky, but I don't feel much different. Maybe it's because I've been exercising and eating a little better, so my physical health is improving. Or maybe it's because I'm finally financially stable, so I'm not always stressed about money. If anything, I feel better heading into 35 than most other years.

One of my old bosses did tell me that your thirties and forties are some of the greatest years of your life. Hopefully, that holds up. I've been incredibly fortunate to find myself wiggled into the position I'm at— content, comfortable, safe, and supported. I'd like that to continue.

It's not all sunshine. I still get hits of anxiety from time to time. Waking up at night disoriented and confused, and then getting hammered with adrenaline for no reason. Seeing ambulances on the road still freaks me out a bit. Yadda yadda, but the good thing is those feelings are slowly dwindling. They aren't as common, or I have better tools to tell myself, "Hey, it's okay, calm down," and ways to work through it.

I still get bouts of depression when I don't feel like doing anything. Not even playing a video game. I still get a little bummed out about the shape of my body. How much closer am I to recomposing this little meat mech I'm piloting around? Not sure, but I still hit the gym three days a week and sweat my ass off while pushing and pulling heavy things. It feels good, even without visual changes.

One nagging thing I've been feeling lately is how much content I consume vs what I create. I'm on Instagram, I'm on Threads, I'm on Bluesky, I'm on Mastodon — scrolling and scrolling, entering a wormhole of consumption and coming out on the other side feeling like I just mindlessly woofed down a bag of chips. Sure, it was "fun," but I don't feel satiated on the other side. I want to create things but don't know where to go. Photography? Drawing? 3d Modeling?

The lack of creation is a big shift for me from my younger years. Growing up, I'd make things. I'd be painting or drawing all the time. Then I went to college for design, so I had my days filled with various art classes. After college, I still drew, took photos, and so on. Slowly that's become "just sit on your butt and look at what other people are making."

I know writing is "making" something, but it hits different.

Where the hell am I going with this? I'm not sure. But hey, I'm older, so maybe I'm being self-reflective and wise. No, not likely.