dear twenty-four

today is february 21st. i turn twenty-four.

it's strange how time keeps moving even when i feel like i'm standing still. birthdays always make me pause — not for celebration, but for quiet reflection. and this one feels especially tender. i'm officially 24 today, and i'm not entirely sure how to feel about it.

lately, i've been going through a rough patch. things haven't quite been working out. i keep trying, and hoping, but i often feel like i'm falling short. like i'm walking slower than everyone else, carrying an old version of myself that i haven't quite outgrown.

being twenty-four feels odd. it's the age where people expect direction — a career path, ambitions, confidence. but part of me still feels like that uncertain teenager, still figuring it all out. this poem captures that feeling perfectly:

i've started to understand that everyone moves at a different pace. some are building careers, others are still studying, some are wandering, and some are just learning how to be okay. and all of that is valid.

maybe one of the quiet lessons of being twenty-four is learning to find peace in the in-between. to slow down. to find comfort in the ordinary: in the softness of a cat curled beside me, the calm of a late afternoon, the simple joy of a warm drink. these are the small things that remind me life is still unfolding — even when i don't have all the answers.

and today, that's enough.