Twenty Eight

On Sunday, I turned 28.

It marked the end to a very disappointing, frustrating year. I set several goals for myself for 27 -- publish a first author paper, defend my dissertation, take a weekend trip away somewhere with just Husband, sort out a few health problems -- and accomplished none of them. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

These were all very practical, obtainable goals, and my inability to complete even one of them really leaves me to write off 27 as a year of failure. It's certainly not for lack of trying, but I've never put so much effort into things and had absolutely no positive results. I'm used to working hard and reaping the rewards -- I was accepted to every college in which I was interested, was offered an interview for every graduate program to which I applied and was accepted to all except one, every lab I rotated with in graduate school wanted me to join. I've already had two investigators express interest in bringing me on as a post-doc (though of course, such offers are useless if I can't actually manage to graduate.) But this year disproved the notion that hard work equals results. I taught myself multiple new techniques and sought out the advice of collaborators to further my project to no avail. I completed the 8-month daily dosing animal study my boss said was required for my manuscript -- and now he has decided not to publish the results. Every weekend Husband had off, I was either tethered to the lab or we had family/friend obligations (we did get one fun weekend away in Austin, though it was specifically for purposes of visiting someone). We each scheduled off time and arranged to stay in his family's vacation home in South Carolina, but instead I had surgery that week, costing us enough to ensure it will be a very, very long time before we can afford to spend money on anything as frivolous as a vacation. I met with more new doctors this year than I have fingers, and yet the particular health problems I set out to resolve still remain mysteries.

On the other hand, my lack of satisfaction with my current life means that I have never been afraid of aging. I truly believe that the best is yet to come. I'm not going to make some silly declaration that next year can't possibly get any worse, because of course it can, but I think the general overall trend is that I am stuck in a ditch of suckiness, and at some point, I have to start climbing out. To me, the future doesn't mean wrinkles and grey hair (I already have lots of those, anyway) and becoming old and boring -- it means eventually living with my husband, possibly finding a career I enjoy, slowly paying off Husband's medical debt, and having both the time and financial freedom to travel.

As my birthday approached, I was inundated with the standard questions regarding how I felt about turning older. I answered each person with the same response -- that I think the best is yet to come, and I look forward to the future. With the exception of one person, everyone threw the answer back in my face.

"In 10 years, you'll long for the days of being 27 again!"

"What are you talking about? Everyone knows the 20s are the best years of your life!"

"You don't have kids yet! Getting older means having kids, and it's all downhill from there!"

"In 5 years, you'll realize how stupid you sound right now thinking the future will be better."

I chose not to share my unhappiness with individuals in my daily life because no one likes a downer, so I'm not sure if the responses would be different if they knew how truly discontent I am right now. Either way, I'm unsure why everybody feels the need to point out that things will only get worse. Just because they are unhappy with aging surely does not mean that 100% of the population feels the same way and that it MUST be the same for me.

So, in light of all the negativity regarding aging that surrounds me, I am setting only one goal for my 28th year of life: to avoid falling into the anti-aging trap by reminding myself every single day that the best is yet to come. For individuals who base their value and worth on beauty and youth, I am sure the 20s really are the highlight of their lives, but I think my life is only going to improve with time.

Flowers from my Birthday Bush -- my parents' hydrangea blooms every year the week of my birthday.