27

Another year, another birthday.

Last year, I showered after snowboarding, locked the door, and wrote a hopeful entry about looking forward to good things. This year, I will be slopping up borscht and beef stroganoff at a group dinner.

I won't write about how quickly time flies (very quickly) or wonder about how much I have changed (a little) or reflect on what I have learned (a few tough, suck-tacular lessons).

A few months ago, beset by shaky nerves, I called my cousin for some reassurance. Jack reminded me, in his typical cynical fashion, that good things don't happen to good people. Hard work doesn't equate success. Still, once in awhile, when the stars align, when a good thing finally does congeal, you can smile and be thankful.

Sometimes I forget that these are certainly halcyon times for me. If you asked Sharon in kindergarten, Sharon in middle school and even Sharon in Mongolia where I thought I'd be by the time I was 27, I would not have said that I would be here. But here I am. I have not followed the life plan that I set for myself. I have not accomplished many goals. Much of the time, I am not really sure of anything.

Even so, I've fallen in love with life again, with all of its unpredictable curves. Everything is so beautiful and strange and challenging. I have a new job and the work is interesting and rewarding. The view from the office is breathtaking. I am getting back in touch with my friends. I just bought rutabaga, which I will try to figure out how to prepare. I started reading fiction again; maybe someday, I will even start writing stories again. I am still hopeful, hopeful, hopeful.