Birthdays feel different in your twenties.

(Pictures above are my 21st birthday (camo queen) and my 27th birthday).

They hold a quiet kind of gravity, the weight of what was, what could have been, and what still might be.

I remember turning 21, student teaching in a first-grade classroom, in love, living off Starbucks sandwiches from my 25-hour work weeks. Back then, life felt certain. I thought I’d be married by 27, have kids by 30, and settle into a calm kind of happiness. That was the dream, the one everyone from my small hometown seemed to hand down. The one that promised comfort, love, and belonging.

And honestly, life felt easier when the world told you who to be.

When dreams came ready-made and you didn’t yet question if they truly belonged to you.

I wished for love. For a family. For a life that felt full because someone else was in it. I didn’t know that happiness could change its shape. That sometimes it wears a ring, and other times it looks like a one-way ticket and a suitcase with room to grow.

Looking back, I almost envy that 21-year-old girl. The one who thought she had it all figured out. The one who believed love was the destination, not something you’d meet, lose, and rebuild along the way.

The years between 21 and 27 carried me through classrooms and airports, heartbreak and healing, friendships that faded and others that bloomed. They carried me to Chicago, a city that somehow feels like both chaos and home.

Twenty-seven doesn’t look the way I imagined it would.
It looks stronger. Softer. More mine.

This year feels like a quiet kind of power. Not the kind that shouts, “I’ve figured it all out,” but the kind that whispers, “I’m still becoming.” I’ve learned it’s okay to change your mind. To walk away from the version of life you once thought was the only one. To start again and again until it feels right.

If my 21-year-old self could see me now, she might think I missed the mark. No husband. No kids. No classroom of my own. She might even think I’m old (LOL). But I think she’d also be proud. Proud that I’ve built something from uncertainty. That I’ve learned to be okay with being alone. That I’ve created a life filled with love through family, friends, coworkers, and the things that light me up; travel, writing, and independence.

Because what I’ve learned is this:

Success doesn’t always look like the life you planned. Sometimes it looks like becoming the kind of person who keeps showing up for herself. Who grows. Who changes. Who finds meaning in the in-between.

And yes, sometimes it’s lonely. There are nights I still crave the love I thought I’d have by now, or wonder why my timing feels off. But I’ve realized timing isn’t a race. It’s a rhythm.

We all move to our own.

Turning 27 has been emotional in the best way. It’s about letting go of old dreams and making peace with that. It’s understanding that it’s not failure when life changes direction. It’s evolution. It’s proof that you’re still growing.

You can still want love and marriage and family. But you can also want yourself. Your peace. Your purpose. Your independence.

So here’s to 27.

To the girl I was and the woman I’m still becoming.
To the dreams I’ve outgrown and the ones still waiting for me.
And to the quiet realization that life doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s to be something beautiful.