I turn 35-years-old tomorrow, rebelling against everything that society has attempted to instill.

I am single, childless, and moderately broke (I have two roommates and basically live in a shoebox). I should probably want to kill myself.

But since I already failed at that when I was 12, I have a different view of aging.

Just surviving for this long feels like an accomplishment. I’m sick of everyone complaining about “getting older” when the alternative is death, and anyone can suddenly die at any point. What if instead of saying older, we said wiser? Or calmer, more enlightened?

Better.

The truth is, I’ve never been happier.

A few significant factors contribute to this; none are the typical box-checking milestones that I grew up believing constitute success.

Metaphorically burying my parents, which therapists had encouraged me to do for years, made a positive difference. It’s nice not to constantly be criticized, and not to tolerate conditional love that fluctuates based on what I achieve.

The holidays still suck, but it’s better for my self-esteem. I no longer carry the same self-hatred–a very heavy burden–that I internalized as a child. Plus, I have friends that feel like family.

Years of dating in Los Angeles, and even recent experiences here in Orange County, taught me how to be a resilient romantic instead of a hopeless one. I’ve had my heart broken more times than I can count. I no longer assume that when someone isn’t into me, it’s because I have small tits or that I’m “unloveable”.

It’s strange to be an age that Hollywood deems unfuckable, and to feel like I’m at my finest. It takes 10-20 minutes to get ready in the morning instead of hours. I don’t blow all of my money on the aesthetic procedures I thought I needed in my 20’s.

(Although for the record, my nosejob and two face tattoos–microbladed eyebrows–were absolutely worth it. And I’ll still gladly drive 2 hours to LA for my perfect California highlights, which took years of research and tears to find.)

I remember the dark days when I refused to leave the house without clip-in hair extensions, full-face makeup, leg makeup. eyelashes, mani/pedi, and a spray tan. I didn’t realize that I was so obsessed with my external appearance because I was internally devastated. Binge-reading magazines while growing up probably didn’t help.

5 Ways to Impress Him Tonight!

The Best Lip Color to Turn Him On

You’re Still Not Hot Enough: Read This Or Die Sad And Alone

Spoiler alert: my dating life was not better due to these “investments” that magazines had promised would help me find love.

Maybe I worked too hard at things I thought would make me someone’s perfect wife instead of working toward my perfect life.

Feeling like I’m helping others, and am part of a community, have been game-changers. I find myself infinitely more flattered by a client’s comment last week about how I have “amazing, kind energy” than anyone’s compliments about my self-constructed physical appearance. And I’m always stoked off anyone who takes the time to read my writing/insides.

I’m determined to be such a dope soul that people crave my vibes. That requires time–and yes, aging–to achieve, so I consider birthdays a blessing instead of a burden.

And even if I never find my special someone, I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I’m okay with dying cunty and alone…no matter what, I’ll still have fun.