Character is not built upon alcohol intake or the submission to social pressure. I’ve been told, at least, that it’s more about “doing you,” and if that you would like to get your sleepy ass to bed, then that you should do.
After lamenting a deficit of “normal” compliments in my life, I’ve comforted myself by concluding that–while I’ll never be the Marsha Brady of the world–at least people are forced to go off autopilot when they address me.
I’m of the mindset that everything happens for a reason, with the caveat of: if you search hard enough for that reason. So, I’ve been digging relentlessly to try to find one, looking inside myself with the hope that I’ll figure out what this little life hiccup wants to tell me/what I can learn. I’m realizing, instead, that I might just have to succumb to the reality that these epiphanies rarely happen right away.
Today marks the one-year anniversary of Twenties Collective, and, as such, I’d like to send out a gigantic thank you to everyone who’s been reading my nonsense from day one.