It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to (I'm not crying)

On the eve of my next birthday, I'm sat reflecting how we're meant to feel about birthdays as adults. Tomorrow I turn 33, and I'm a tad conflicted as to what I'm feeling. In actual fact, as I'm sure most grown-ups agree, we tend to feel a little empty. We know we're expected to be excited, we spend the first 21 years of our lives indulging in and anticipating our special day. The one day that is about us. Yet as grown ups we just don't feel much anymore.

I was asked recently whether I was where I'd expected myself to be at this age. The question surprised me somewhat, as in actual fact I have almost zero clue what I'd thought or hoped for; my memory is pretty shoddy. I think that's one element to why I've always written, an attempt to create memories for myself long after I've forgotten them.

I've travelled alone and worked abroad. I've had a career in education as well as starting two of my own businesses. I've taken responsibility for my own nature, and become a kinder and happier person (always working on that of course!). I don't have any regrets, and I have a fabulous group of friends who love me. I've developed ambition, and carved myself a little part of the universe where I seem to belong.

I was a miserable teen, and life was challenging. I started to find happiness in my 20s, and found a confidence I'd never thought possible. However, as much as I hate cliches, my 30s have been kickarse, and make my 20s pale into significance. I didn't find myself, I finally created the me I'd always needed to become.

Moving forward another year, celebrating the fact I've survived another 365 days and I'm feeling thankful. I'm thankful for those who make me feel 'good enough', and sometimes even 'more than enough'. Thankful for the opportunities I was able to seize and run with, and for all who cheerleaded me along the path.

I'm excited for all that this next year will bring, and all the new chapters I'm yet to write.