Twenty Three.

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.

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