I am a whole year older this week. 

My birthday was so sweet last Thursday, I woke up Friday thinking I was actually 38 instead of 37. 

A few weeks ago, I went to breakfast with a friend and she poked at the plans I’d made to celebrate my birthday. She was, like, the fifth or sixth person to ask and so, for the fifth or sixth time, I shared my desire to be at the beach. To sit in the quiet of the morning and usher in my brand new year. Only this time, when I said it, emotion came to the surface. Likely a prelude to the emotion I knew I was ready to express on my birthday.

Without having the words to really explain why, I simply felt this was the year I’d been waiting for, for so many years.

Praying for.

Striving for.

With none of the typical celebratory plans in play, I emerged from my bed at dawn and made my way to the beach. I laid out a blanket, propped my water and my matcha in the sand, laid out my journal and pen, and sat still. Crossed-legs. Deep breaths. The image I’d had in my head for weeks was now my reality.

It never takes long for my tear ducts to give way when I’m at the beach – as long as it’s quiet and I’m alone. And give way, did they. 

My solitary tears and one-off sniffles turned into belly crying and a nose so stuffy, I could only breathe from my mouth. It really was therapeutic. 80% of those tears full of gratitude and expectancy. The other 20%, a release of the overwhelm and fear and pent up emotion that hadn’t had an outlet to that point.

But while I was eager to be upon the threshold of the “year of my prayers,” in that 20% lied a tinge of dread that I was yet another year older and nowhere near where I thought I’d be. In fact, one of the first things I penned in my journal that morning was this: 

“I’m nowhere near where I thought I’d be but yet right where I’m supposed to be.” 

It encouraged me that morning, for sure. But in the days since, I’ve wavered back and forth.

There was once a time where I envisioned 37 year old Monique as a wife, a mother to multiple children, a homeowner…but in her place stands 37 year old Monique – an entrepreneur and a generational pioneer. And while there may be no husband or direct offspring in the picture (which can sometimes totally put me in a funk), I’m realizing the influence I do have in my spaces and for generations, even if they aren’t my direct lineage (yet). There’s still opportunity to influence and have impact on and through people.

And perhaps I needed that quiet morning of Kim K sobbing to rest in that truth and properly welcome in the year I’ve been preparing for my whole life.