Do you even know what goes on in a heart anymore?

And so another birthday approaches. And since I don’t by nature stop and reflect on them (birthdays have never had much of an impact on me—I just keep trucking along), I’m forcing myself to do so with this one. And not because it’s the last of my 20s; I don’t care about that. But because of the year I’ve had. Fastest of my life. A year completely unlike any of the 28 that preceded it. A year with its ups and downs for sure (what year isn’t?), but a year in which the ups have made far more of an impression than the downs.

It just so happens that almost exactly one year ago, in the week following my last birthday, I met the person I currently call my boyfriend. Happy birthday, P/O! And so after being convinced for so long that a meaningful relationship with someone of the same sex wasn’t possible (for me), slowly but surely, without even realizing it was happening, that seems to be what has come to pass. Something was touched off that night, nearly one year ago, that in many ways strikes me as having been almost entirely outside of my control. And it’s been amazing, and terrifying, and beautiful, and horrific, and fun and arduous and surprising and exhausting and energizing...and most of all...bewildering. I still can’t believe it; I still don’t understand it. Where did this come from? How did this happen? For sure, the hardest part has been learning to let go and try to just go along for the ride. It’s hard work, and it’s work I’ve never done before.

And it’s that very struggle that led to some of the most difficult parts of my 29th year; some of the most difficult parts of the sum of my years, actually. Some of the deepest depression; some of the highest anxiety. In true P/O form, the highest highs led reliably to some of the lowest lows.

But the work of the struggle is immeasurably valuable. The payoff is so worth it. In some ways I can’t believe I’m saying that (mister self-sufficient that I’ve always tried to be), but it’s true. Every time we wrap ourselves around each other and experience that feeling of complete and total overwhelm, I’m reminded of just how worth it it is.

So it’s been a good year. And no matter what happens, I’ve had this.

And so more than any other year, this birthday feels like an anniversary of sorts. (Well, more than just the anniversary of my birth, which as I’ve already noted, has never really made much of an impression on me.) The only other thing I’ve ever really associated with my birthday was my yearly physical when I was growing up... And though I love the whole “turn your head and cough” as much as the next guy, somehow this feels a little more significant. Scary in its significance, no doubt. But hell. I’ve always liked a good thrill.