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Twenty-Five Cents

Well I turned 25. I realize I could have posted a thoughtful, sentimental something on my years that I spent, you know, alive so far. Honestly, I don’t know what to say about it. It does feel rather definite, more substantial than 19 or 23. But the 25 years are made up of so many moments where I forget to remember my age, or what time it is, or if my socks match. Yesterday, I woke up with hair in my mouth, sheet marks on my arm and a cat laying across my stomach. The sun was just beginning to creep up, the whole sky was a deep blue with pastel golds and pinks. It was stunning, it sort of shocked me awake. I didn’t remember that I was 25 that day, I did remember that I would need coffee to fully appreciate the sunrise, so I slid the limp cat over and went to the kitchen to pour myself a cup.

What I’m trying to say is this life, my life, is the best I could have ever imagined. Would I have changed a few things over my 25 years? Yes, but they would only be small things, like not locking my keys in the car or leaving my shoes at home by accident. Or a few nights in college where Becca had to reel me back in. I would not change my family, my life, or who I have become over all this time. Not for a moment.

It’s actually kind of amazing that it only took me 25 years to discover the things I love. To understand why I am good at mucking stalls, but not changing diapers, or why I love the country instead of the city. This crazy life, the farming and working and living to see the sunrise over our old tobacco barn, it’s more than I could have dreamed for.

Anyway, enough sentimentality. That’s my 2 cents worth. Or, 25 cents would be more appropriate I suppose. Here’s to many more.

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