Two years ago, I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would smile, that I would focus on the bright side, that that I would fall in love with myself and the world around me, that I would give my energy and attention to the people and things that I care about, that I would take time to pursue writing at an even more serious level, and that I would deepen my relationship with God.⠀
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I promised that I would believe in love and new beginnings, even those that form in the wake of painful endings. I promised that I would travel, that I would spend money, that I would laugh and dance and sing and wear glitter and flowers in my hair and stop worrying so much about what others think of me or how young and foolish I look.⠀
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It’s been two years, 730 days from the night I made those promises on the deck of a cruise ship, watching the stars blink the sky, arm-in-arm with a stranger. It’s been one year, 365 days since I revisited those promises and smiled at both the pain and progress I’d made in my 24th year. ⠀
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At the time, I didn’t know the weight of those words, or how they would shape me. All I know, is that since making those promises to myself, I’ve listened to the crazy beat of my heart.⠀
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I’ve laughed. I’ve danced. I’ve loved. I’ve lost. I’ve traveled. I’ve forgiven. I’ve jumped into things, and people, and relationships that were scary. I’ve spent money. I’ve moved and made friends across the country. I’ve written and published a poetry collection. I’ve finished a faith-based book. I’ve fallen down, hard. I’ve given and received love. I dived into deeper faith. I cried. I felt. I broke. I healed. I wore damn flowers, and all the glitter I could.⠀
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I know I’m far from perfect, far from the ‘ideal’ image I had in my mind for who I am and where my life ‘should’ be. But I’m happy, and honestly, maybe that’s all that matters.⠀
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As I step into this year, 25, I’m holding onto those promises. I’m holding onto this happiness. And I’m letting life pull and push me in whatever direction I’m meant to go.
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