happy birthday to me.

It is no secret among friends and loved ones; I love birthdays. Especially my own. Yesterday, I turned 29.
Birthdays in years 1 through 21 were pure bliss. 22 will go down in history as "the year of the 22 dates" (which requires an entire blog at a later date posting for explanation). 23 was the nose piercing birthday (my attempt at rebellion). 24 was lonely after all the celebratory college years. I distinctly remember a slight panic attack at 25. Turning 26 was devastating because I was in Korea and my birthday celebration was combined with a farewell dinner for the only in-country friend I had. 27 made me feel old without warning. 28 was calm and made me feel overly adult. And now, it's 29.
It is easy to compare myself to every other 29 year old. Am I equally successful? Have I accomplished enough for these 29 years? Do I have less wrinkles? Am I wasting my life? Does it even matter?
My desire is to live my life to the fullest, to find joy in what I have been given, to trust God in what I have not been given. And, to never dread a single birthday. That would be such a waste.