PISCES SEASON IS HERE, BUT I'M NOT CRYING THIS YEAR
It’s officially Pisces season! My season and my time to shine! I always prefer to reflect on my life and goals around my birthday, my personal new year, rather than the calendar new year on January 1. But regardless of when one chooses to—it’s so important to take stock of where we’ve been. It’s a way to honor our growth and chart our path forward. It really makes me appreciate the journey, because I can reflect back on the challenges or the moments I worried if things would all work out, and recognize that I overcame the hurdles and fear, and will always continue to do so. So, when I started thinking about my upcoming birthday, I immediately thought about the night I celebrated my 25th birthday—it’s always a birthday that stands out in my mind, especially as I’m about to celebrate it’s 10th anniversary.
How do you honor your personal growth?
I’ll never forget my 25th birthday. The night ended with me crying in the back of a cab. My best friend gave me a “happy pill” to calm me down, but it was just a placebo so it didn’t do much to stop my tears. I looked too good to be crying, I was wearing a vintage dress that I found just for the occasion—an ivory shift, super short with the perfect side slit—topped off with my early-20s signature, Nars Schiap lipstick. I had planned dinner with my friends at Cafe Gitane (the Jane Hotel location, RIP) and then we went to The Anchor (also RIP) for drinks and dancing.
I remember hoping that the guy I hooked up with a few weeks prior would show up. I texted him last minute because I couldn’t decide whether I should invite him, so I waited until the day before (my favorite way to self-sabotage). He said he had plans but would “try to stop by,” but he didn’t. Then a few friends left my party early to go elsewhere, which hurt my feelings because I was always more concerned about whether people were having fun on my birthday than actually having fun myself.
But that’s not why I cried.
The real tragedy, in my mind, was that I was old. 25 marked the beginning of the end. I would no longer be young, hot, and freshly out of college.
I was time-to-start-getting-your-shit-together old.
Unfortunately I only have blurry Blackberry photos to remember this night, but here I am with my best friend Melanie.
I honestly think I cried on almost every birthday in my twenties—for fear of getting old. Right before my 27th birthday I met a handsome guy at a bar who “jokingly” told me I only had “a few good years left to find a husband.” Then, my 29th birthday felt even more miserable with the dreaded 30s looming. Hitting 30 meant that I would immediately become less desirable, I’d never see my name on any 30 under 30 lists, and maybe I’d become less valuable at work in my youth-obsessed industry.
Now I’m 5 days away from turning 35.
Thirty-fucking-five.
I haven’t cried on my birthday a single year since I turned 30 because when the day finally arrived, I realized that my life hadn’t actually changed in any major way. But now, what does it mean to be 35? I certainly don’t feel old, and I don’t look old (thank you, melanin!). Sometimes, I still feel like a kid, to be honest—and no, not just because I currently live with my parents. I don’t dwell on the fact that I’m in high-risk pregnancy territory or that I’m not married. I still swear I’m too young for all that serious stuff.
Now, I can’t help but look back on myself in my twenties and wish that I wasn’t so worried all the time about being old, and that I didn’t waste my thoughts on how I might end up alone forever because even though I’m currently single I don’t believe that’s my destiny. I can see now how often I was stuck in this ‘lack’ mentality—I felt as though every year something was being taken from me, or that I missed out on something, instead of focusing on what I was truly gaining year by year, and what I was moving closer towards—being the woman I am today.
We put so much pressure on ourselves to have everything figured out in our twenties—and it feels like everyone’s watching, and if we don’t have what we’ve been told we should have by 30, we’re defective, we’ve failed, and everyone knows.
I’ve never been one to succumb to peer pressure, but the expectations that are put on us require a lot of un-brainwashing, a lot of questioning what we’ve been taught. Question everything.
That’s one of the things I love about this life though—the endless opportunities to learn new things about ourselves, to grow, to develop, and find a new perspective. I often like to take a step back, like actually stepping outside myself to acknowledge I've been given a unique and incredible life, one with immense opportunities and challenges that have melded together to make me who I am. I’m so much more than my age, than my marital status or the job I left last year. I’m strong, I’m sensitive, I’m intuitive, I’m curious, I’m caring. I remind myself of these things every day. And I certainly don’t want to miss out on all the messy, fun stuff because I’m worried about the future I can’t control or hung up on the past I can’t change.
I feel really proud of the woman I’ve grown into over the last 10 years. I haven’t settled for anything less than what I’m worth. So I don’t care that there are some who would prefer to reduce who I am to just a 35-year-old who is unmarried, with a biological time bomb about to detonate. Just the other day an Instagram follower DM’d me asking how old I was. I said I was about to be 35. A day later, she wrote me again asking, “now that I know you’re 35, are you interested in having a family?” Because that’s not a super personal question to ask someone you only know from the internet. I was going to deflect and make a joke about how I already have a family, but I just told her the truth:
I’m just here for the journey, and I’m open to whatever this life has in store for me.
From me to me: here’s what’s on my birthday wishlist
Now feels like the time to get serious about investing—in art. I don’t own anything noteworthy, and my focus is on up & coming Black artists I admire like Tschabalala Self and Cassi Namoda.
Maybe it's the return to my Westchester roots, but I’ve been eyeing this Thom Browne pleated mini for months now, and I can’t imagine my spring wardrobe without it.
I ate off these Laboratorio Paravicini plates at a fashion week dinner party a few years ago and I haven’t stopped thinking about them since. Honestly they were made for me (and any astrology lover).
I’m always on the hunt for unique knitwear, because sometimes a plain crewneck just doesn’t cut it. I love this RtA sweater’s corset detailing.
I need these Brother Vellies heels, even if it’s just for my weekly errands run.
Slowly but surely I am collecting pieces for my future home, and this Anissa Kermiche "breast friend" vase is a must-have.
My friend Brynn Wallner who started @dimepiece.co has me convinced that I need a watch. But not just any watch, a Cartier Panthere (she says it’s the It girl watch)—and I can’t think of a better way to commemorate my big 3-5.
I like to think I’m the queen of the cat-eye sunglasses but I’m ready to give my collection a break for these simple Ray-Bans.
My Taurus rising wants all the roses—and rose-scented candles. My go-to is Byredo.
Bitcoin—because we’re doing this now, right?