[insert obligatory, cliche New Year, New You spiel…]
Had you asked 10-year-old me, or heck, 20-year-old me what I thought my 2015 would look like I wouldn’t have said anything slightly resembling this.
My past selves would not have given me enough credit to pull off the adventure I’m currently in the throws of. Most days I can’t believe it myself.
I’m satisfied in the most unfamiliar of ways. Some people would pity my lack of romance (well, lack of “locked down romance”) etc. etc. And I’m finally starting to realize having someone isn’t when you can be deemed “officially happy.”
In fact, on Wednesday night, standing on the Hamburg Pier with new friends, a glass full of champagne, and smeared lipstick from smooching a stranger at midnight, I realized that I’m pretty stinkin’ happy.
The kind of happy you feel in your gut. And your heart.
For that kind of happy, I thank God.
Here’s to 2015, may it be filled with many more days of friends, confidence, and of course, smeared lipstick from midnight kisses.