Twenty-five years ago today (Friday the 13th), my two-weeks-overdue mother decided that she was inducing this baby. After a bit of drama involving a suction cup and a cord wrapped around my neck, I managed to get born. Since then I’ve done a lot of things—some good, some bad, none epic—I’m hoping on the whole that my life trends towards the good and does good to those around me.
My parents named me Ruth, after all, and I grew up being told that it meant either “Compassionate” or “friend,” and even if I didn’t really like that…it’s grown on me.
In some ways, birthdays (like new years) are arbitrary distinctions. But this year in particular, I like drawing a line here. Most of my 24th year was hellish and stressful and worried and sad. The overarching theme was my mother’s gradual decline and death and the fallout that had in other parts of my life. It was not a good year.
So I’m a bit excited about this next one, I want to draw a little line on today and say “Ok, now I’m 25.” I know that won’t actually fix things in my life, but I’m trying to look at it optimistically anyway.
I’ve started library school, which also makes me feel like I’m doing something with myself and moving toward the future I want. And I think I’ve gotten a handle on some other things in my life which I was letting make me miserable. I’ve also divested myself of a few responsibilities which were bringing more stress than benefit and invested myself in other things I love more (like this blog). I’ve also invested myself in a group of people who are truly phenomenal and who make me feel loved and supported and hope that I can love and support them in turn.
So here’s to 25 being a good year to be Ruth!