Seeking Cerulean

I turn 30 this year and the first thing that comes to mind is the quiet. I don’t mean the volume of my physical surroundings, but rather a feeling of peace and serenity that is only reached after going through years of heartbreak and tragedy and learning and growth. The type of quiet that envelops your soul with a gentle hum of hopes and dreams and potential. The quiet that is filled with happiness and confidence and content. It’s filled with love. Self-love, familial love, romantic love. Because after all, the best kind of love is quiet. Hate is often painfully loud. It can be jarring and intense and disruptive. It’s filled with lies and preconceived notions and prejudice and ignorance. But love? True love is quiet. It needs no embellishment or volume or validation. It’s something always felt, but not always seen.

Nearing 30, I think a lot about when I was 23 and when the quiet was much different. At 23, the quiet was filled with a deep sadness. 23 was the worst year of my life. It was filled with a whole lot of mistakes, heartbreak, and setbacks. Life was extremely chaotic. I was working two jobs, I had an on and off again toxic relationship, and I was struggling financially. I was a sad person that held on to happy moments, even if they were attached to someone that deepened my insecurities. I felt like every win and step forward came with a crushing failure that would put me more than 2 steps back. I had no idea who I was or even worse, who I wanted to be.

With a simultaneous feeling of guilt and gratefulness, I wrestled daily with the irony of having so much, yet still wanting more. The things I yearned for were not tangible. I wanted things that most people chase their entire lives, but felt like I was left grasping at the trailing smoke of dreams of what could be. I wanted happiness, love, and acceptance; I wanted acceptance from others, but mostly from myself. I hated everything about myself and hated the person I had become. I felt empty inside.

I constantly surrounded myself with people and filled rooms with my boisterous, bubbly personality because I couldn’t sit with the quiet. The quiet revealed my insecurities and fears. It reminded me that I was alone. That I hadn’t reached the goals I thought I would. That no matter how hard I tried, I irrationally believed that I wasn’t good enough, nor would I ever be. I struggled to acknowledge my strengths and accomplishments because I let my negative self-talk cloud my judgement and spin my truths.

But, I turn 30 this year and the quiet feels very different. Instead of sadness, it’s filled with love. I don’t feel scared or ashamed about aging. I honestly welcome each year with a joy and hopefulness that I could not fathom feeling in the past. Especially not at 23.

Each passing year, I’ve learned and loved so much. I learned how to love myself, how to recognize the beauty in small actions and moments, and most importantly, that happiness is a choice. I chose myself and along with it came everything I used to yearn so deeply for. When I chose myself, my future lifelong partner entered my life because I was finally ready to experience something beautiful and true and real. I learned how to forgive, whether it be family or friends, a past lover, or myself. I learned how to live in gratitude and consequently experienced so many blessings that my 23 year old self could never even dream of.

Whether you are closer to 23 or 30, I want you to know that your best possible life is only a few choices, a handful of moments, and that one first step away from you. Choose yourself. Believe in yourself. Work on yourself. Exist in your quiet and understand that your future self already has the life you dream of.

Close your eyes and bathe yourself in the quiet and the realization that the world is already in your hands.