24 | A birthday letter

It’s the morning of my 24th birthday.

I’m in Atlanta for the first time. When I woke up a few hours ago, I was feeling far more reflective on my life. But now, I can’t think of much to say other than how I plan to spend my day. Which is renting a city bike and riding around Piedmont Park, midtown, and downtown. Later, I’ll find a bar and settle in for a few hours to drink some beer and watch the Superbowl. I don’t care about the game, but it’s fun being around people.

The night before my plane took off, I was afraid. But I’m not sure why or of what. A usual wave of nerves passes through me before going to a new place. Wherever in the world, it is. But I’ve always used it as a sign to push forward instead of pullback. However, now that I’m getting older I’ve noticed that these nerves have been mixed with more existential fear…fear of indecision, fear of falling behind financially, fear of personal stagnation, and of course, fear of not making progress in my career. My real career.

And yet, the world still feels so open. Everything still feels possible. And when I look around, it’s impossible to say that progress hasn’t been made.

If I could tell myself anything at 18, it would be to be patient with yourself. It’s always so hard to see ahead, but by doing what you’re doing you’ll actually get to go to some of the places you used to daydream about. You’ll learn to take better care of yourself. You’ll experience at least one true romance. And you’ll become a lot better writer.

At 24, I don’t know what I don’t know, but I sure wish I did.

That’s all I have to say for now. I’m going to go enjoy the rest of my birthday.

Until Monday,

First time 24-year-old,

Solomon Lovejoy