23 by :Mella (lovestopicnics' one and only staff member)

This number probably doesn’t mean much to you. If I knew something about sports I’d say maybe it stands for someone great (or someone you hate). Maybe it’s a highway you take to work, or a lucky digit that has lead to big fortunes. It might be the age by which you plan to have the world ruled, but if nothing else, maybe 23 is just a lost member in the blur that was your youth. 

Today, I turned 23. 

I’d hate to start this new year of life with a lie, so I’ll be honest. For the first time ever, (besides that time my birthday fell on mothers day and I had to share my party with my mom and grandma) I wished it wasn’t my birthday. Not today, anyway. It’s always been interesting to see how my birthday fits into such a busy time of year. Mother’s day, year-ending projects and tests, graduations, newly bloomed relationships, and the hectic nature of spring in general—I’ve always felt lucky for a well-timed day of birth. And then what I like most about May is what ruined it altogether.

Bad timing. It has the power to turn your good day into a bad day, a bad day into a bad week. After that, bad timing can make you feel like: the world hates you/ God is on vacation/ you’re the statue, not the bird. As a waitress, I’ve learned timing has the power to define what table you get, how much they spend, and what you’ll get out of it.  It can choose how long you wait in line, because of how many red lights you hit on the way, because of what you forgot at home before you left. It’s the initial link in a chain reaction. It’s what made being born on May 10, 23 years ago, destined for failure this time around. 

Graduation season has been less than a treat, particularly because of the daunting reminders that: 1. I will not be marching out as a master from the Art School of My Dreams and 2. Even 12 months after commencement, I am still unsettled. Then there was yet another unsuccessful interview process, 4 Sundays in a row of brunch-lunch-dinner shifts, an over drafted account, a car that wouldn’t start, and oh yeah, I got dumped. The timing is almost hilarious—life came crashing down just in time to celebrate it. The passing of time has a harsh way of reminding you what you haven’t done, and turning Twenty Three, from where I stand, feels a lot more like failing than a reason to be honored.

But, (It’s a big one) the thing about birthdays is that none of that matters. 

Because it’s MY day. Because today, I reserved the right to forget flips exist. Because I wore a really great dress and really fabulous shoes. Because I got to hang out with Chattanooga’s finest. Because today, I was a Facebook celebrity. Because I have so so so so so so many people that care about me and love me and know I’m bigger than all the things I have yet to be. Because reality and birthdays don’t coexist. Because with so much to be thankful for, there is hardly any time for griping. 

But mostly, because I believe in a God that is understanding and kind and in charge. Bad timing and breakdowns are just back roads that will get me to Appreciation faster, where there’s no such thing as coincidence and every turn has a purpose. 

23 is going to be a great year because I believe in a God that believes me.