Fie's goodbye to 34

Dear 34,

You were so much better than 33 in many, many ways. While you were around, I accomplished so much. I wrote a novel (!!!), no one died (!!!!), I kept my marriage together ([!!!] despite almost completely screwing it up), I got a job (!!!!!!), and I started to feel much more confident about the future. It must have had something to do with the fact that there's a 4 in you. Lucky number, 4.

Thank you for your many gifts, 34. I think we accomplished a lot together. Please never forget me. I'll never forget you.

Cheers!

Fie

***

Dear 35,

You have some big shoes to fill. 34 was so super awesome. But here's what I anticipate from you: a big move across the country, lots of fun traveling, seeing some cool Shakespeare on stage, starting the aforementioned job, being close to family, and maybe some more novel writing. It wouldn't hurt if you threw in some time for scholarship, too. In fact, 35, I expect you to just make me better and better. If you could find a way, it would also be nice if you could find me an agent for 34's novel. You have that power, right? (Don't tell me if I'm wrong -- just let me believe in something for once.)

I embrace you, 35. You might be somewhat middle aged, but who would ever go backward when forward opens to possibilities? Potential and becoming are so much more inspiring than the constraints of the old box of what was.

The old story goes that when I was born, my mom's doctor said, "It's a boy!" And then threw in, "April Fool's!" My parents had wanted a boy desperately, and so I started out as a general disappointment. But, 35, I'm out from under that shadow. Perhaps blooming late is no cause for alarm. Let's continue to bloom together, 35. You give me a year; I'll give you a year.

Hopefully,
Fie