So, a few (*cough* 2) months ago, I turned 28. 28, years, old.
And truly, it was fine. Other than 25, I’ve loved each birthday. Older women often smile knowingly as they pass along that as women age, we just grow into our existing skin. We become more ourselves. I’ve heard the rumor that it gets even better at milestone 30, so let me just say: Bring It On.
On my birthday each year, as only the product of two teachers can do, I choose something I want to learn. Not in the “fly a plane” or “speak the native tongue of the Pecheneg people” strain, but more “live in the moment” (24) or “hold life with open hands” (26) or “value community most” (18).
This year, in the midst of recovering from surgery and weariness, I fought for contentment. I struggled to be okay with the turn life had taken over the past few years. I read books and magazines, I journaled, I drank tea, and willed my turmoil to stop, Oh God, please.
And? Nothing.
The truth is, I’m not sure we’re always meant to be content. That churning we feel in the depth of our spirit was put there by the Creator who built us out of nothing. We’re not meant to squash it, to hush it into submission until all that’s left is a dull numbness.
We’re MEANT to feel that.
Because when we strive for contentment in that way, we change the meaning of the word. We change ourselves.
Not that all contentment is bad, but I’m not sure it should be used as a synonym for “lazy” or “cool with the crazy that’s happening”.
Or “boring”.
Or “stagnant”.
Contentment is maybe a little more about finding the joy in your life, and holding that with both hands.
So for this year, the only year I’ll ever have as 28, I reject contentment. I choose Passion.
So, here we go, 28: The Year Of Passionate Living.
Live Color Fully 
Love this! Proud to be your Mama 🙂