Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 23. I’ve had some time to reflect on this past year of my life and I am grateful for everything that has come my way. Since this time last year, I finished my Masters, got my first “big girl” job, discovered a new passion (running), went places with said passion (literally and figuratively; I traveled for races), and delved further into the person I want to become.
There is still so much going on in my mind and so much I would like to accomplish by this time next year. I will be running a marathon in a mere week and a half (so. ridiculous). I really want to continue running for as long as I can. I want to get back to working with the elderly. I miss it terribly. I want to discover new passions. I want to travel to new places, and even some old places. I just want to go. Keep moving.
More than anything else though I want to move to a new city. A real city. Sorry Worcester, but our five year relationship reiterated to me that you are not, in fact, a real city. And sorry, Hartford (and any city in Connecticut, for that matter), but you don’t impress me.
I want to go to a major city. I want to grow and thrive there, and shape into the person I want to become. I want to travel home on the holidays, and I want my own apartment. My own overpriced apartment that one would only find in a city. A city like New York. That is what I want.
By this time next year, that is where I want to be. Developing existing passions, discovering new ones, and truly getting an understanding of who I am. Now is the time.
And a year from now, I hope to say that I’ve successfully accomplished everything I’ve mentioned thus far, and more.