I feel weird reading the things I wrote then I was 20. The prose is too showy and the words are too long, and my abuse of commas was somehow even worse than it is today. It embarrasses me to read those words, but it’s possible I’m embarrassed more by the person I was when I put those words down on those pages.

I turn 24 tomorrow. It’s not a big deal, except for in the ways that it is. I’ll spend all day in class and then come home and make dinner. I’ll do my homework and waste time scrolling through twitter. It’ll be just another Tuesday.

I’m the kind of person who likes to mark occasions. I like to lavish people with attention. Weird care packages and homemade cards, texts just to say ‘hi’ and emails with links that remind me of them. I feel my best when I’m showing people that I care.

I can’t bring myself to care about this birthday. It feels like a hurdle, to be honest, something I have to get past—get through—to get to the other side. To get to 24 and graduation and whatever comes after whatever it is I am doing right now.

Exactly one year ago, on the night before my 23^rd birthday, I wrote a blog post about the gifts I had found during year 22. It holds true, I think. When I read it over I smile and nod. I feel grateful for those moments and those people and those feelings that were so real as I was feeling them.

This year has had it’s share of gifts, but two of them matter more than all the rest.

The first gift is work.

Just nose to the grindstone, head in the books, work. This has been a year of accomplishing the things I need to accomplish. I graduate in 90 days, having squeezed three semesters worth of classes in to two semesters. I’ve taken stupidly easy pre-reqs and stupidly hard graduate seminars. I’ve had a lot of meetings with my advisor, sitting on opposite sides of her desk as we plan out my path. I’ve had a lot of homework—readings and essays and earth science labs that lasted for 4 hours on Wednesday mornings. It kind of stinks, truthfully. But it’s what I need to do and so I’m doing it.

The other gift is a little cheesier. Sorry.

This year, more than any, has shown me what a gift it is to have people. This year, at least the parts of it I’ve spent in Maryland, have been very isolated. Suburban life is weird and strange and I’ve spent a lot of time being very very thankful that when I get home at the end of the day I have people I can count on to be only a skype call away. Distance is hard, but knowing that there are people out there that care about me makes it a little easier to slog through whatever is being slung my way each day. I’m grateful for the gift of affection. Shown in phone calls I get from friends in far off places and in facebook messages from the other side of the world. I’m thankful for the people who send me links on twitter and for every time my brother emails me weird memes. I’m thankful for my parents who watch weird sitcoms and don’t complain when I sit in the room with them and ignore them in favor of my textbooks. I’m thankful for every little bit of love that I receive.

I hope I’m not embarrassed to read this four years from now. I hope the things in my life that I consider gifts are things that I will continue to value. I hope my work ethic doesn’t putter out and my love for others stays strong. I hope I have enough love and affection in my life that even to remark on it in such simple terms seems quaint.  I know I’ll be disappointed in my comma abuse (I always am) but I hope the words I’m writing now will still feel true.

I turn 24 tomorrow.

I knew exactly what 23 was going to hold—school, camp, a home in Maryland and sustaining my relationships via internet connection. 24 is up in the air. 24 feels like a mystery. For once, I don’t know what comes next. But whatever it is, and wherever this year takes me, I’m ready. And even if I wasn’t, time passes anyway.

Lots of love.

I started 2015 comfortable. On the floor of an apartment in Manhattan, in my pajamas and under blankets and with one of my best friends and pizza and the ball drop on TV. We stood on the balcony in the cold and watched people stumble, drunk and happy, up 2^nd avenue after the clock struck midnight.

I spent 2015 scared. In New York and in DC. In Maryland and Massachusetts. Not always, but enough that I felt like I had something lurking in the back of my mind pushing me forward. The fear of stagnation can be a powerful motivator.

I’m ending 2015 cautiously optimistic. This year has felt like a year of development; new places, new people, starting my senior year of college, starting to make choices about where I want to go and who I want to be--- next year feels like a year of action; college graduation (finally), a job (I hope!) and all the new and scary things that come with starting the next stage of everything.

This has been a long year and a strange one, and one that I’m still processing. It feels like a year where I grew a lot, but also a year I realized how much growing I still have to do. A year where I made some good changes and also stalled out in some places, and through the mix-mash of 365 days, came out the other side still looking up.

I want to leave some of my fears in 2015. My fear of never living up to my own expectations or the expectations of others; that only makes me put unhealthy pressures on myself. My fear of rejection—I get so scared to reach out to other people when I need them that I suffer through in silence, even though rationally I know that there are people in my life who would love to hear from me. My fear of the future, and the ways that it’s unfolding, no matter how prepared or unprepared I feel.

I want to bring some of the things I’ve discovered about myself in 2016. My willingness to try new things and my willingness to go new places. My bleeding heart and my open mind. The things I’ve learned, and the things I have been conscious of needing to learn more about. The friends I’ve made in all of the places I’ve been, and all the places I’ve been where I’ve begun to learn a little more. I’ve found a lot this year. And I’m proud of that.

This year I’ve climbed mountains. I’ve sung songs around campfires and taken long bus rides where I’ve done nothing but listen to the same song on repeat for hours at a time. I’ve written words that I’m proud of and words that rereading makes me cringe. I’ve gotten good report cards and done horribly on biology tests. I’ve taken photos that I’m proud of, and spent much, much too much time with my head in the clouds. I’ve read a lot—fiction and non-fiction, long-form and newspapers, articles from friends and books my grandma sent me in the mail. I’ve gone to concerts and Broadway musicals and high school talent shows. I’ve tried new things, and not always liked the things I’ve tried. I’ve gotten better at saying “yes,” despite the fear and at saying “no,” despite the disappointment.

I think I’m ready for a new year. I’m not caught up in the idea that a new year is a new start, but it is a new milestone. I’m ready to carry over. To take all the things I’ve done and make them more. Make them bigger and better, and different in the ways I want them to be different.

So here goes. Here goes another year of all of that. Of the curiosity and the anxiousness and love and fear and all the emotions in between. I’m ready to feel (and experience) them all.