30, “figured out.”

July marks the middle of summer, meaning that all the warm weather is halfway to being gone in Boston. I start to feel guilt for all the trips I didn’t take or people I didn’t see. I look at pictures on social media of friends who took long weekends on the Cape, sipped Rosé on rooftops of various cities with actual Happy Hour specials, and traveled somewhere scenic, whether to sunbathe on some foreign beach or hike to some nearby mountaintop. I romanticize all the things I could have seen and done, and then I remember that I much prefer autumn weather in Boston and I’m far more content staying put than wandering about. I generally dislike the disorientation that comes with long-term travel or even a minor disruption to routine. I tell myself I want to go places, but once I’m there, after a few days, all I want to be is home. These are the realizations that have come with getting older, the primary topic that tends to occupy my mind come July on account of my birthday.

Birthdays, like any other day of the year, can be a hit or a miss. This year, my birthday was a mixed experience. I had a nice visit from my mom the morning of my actual birthday and a great jiu-jitsu private session in the afternoon, but the days preceding and following my birthday were filled with work stress (much of it self-imposed) and dread of the imminent end of my 20s. Not to mention, on account of grappling competitions on the 14th and 27th, I was sober for all birthday-adjacent celebrations, meaning I couldn’t let myself as loose as I would have liked. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a huge drinker…