I Turned 28 and Nothing Happened...and then Something Did.

Allow me to explain.

The thing that I’ve been lowkey dreading all year inevitably happened.

Last week, I turned 28. Yup, on October 5th, 2016.

#Libragang #OctobersVeryOwn and all that good stuff. 


To be fair, if I didn’t make it to this point, that would mean that I was dead, so this alternative isn’t that bad when put in context.  

But there’s levels to this shit.
Depending on who you ask (or who’s reading) some may think that it’s not a big deal.

Twenty-Eight-- #2yearsfrom30.

I see my peers doing amazing things, and I think, 'man we’re just getting started.' 

Allow me to generalize for a moment, though. Some of my fellas may start to see their hairlines begin to talk to the back of their necks and some of my ladies may be secretly plotting to freeze their eggs.

Tell me where the lie is. I'll wait. 

We’re getting up there and my knees are consistently remind me of that.

At any rate, I can now say that I am officially late twenties. Gah!

At 27, I could possibly get away with mid. Like, I could answer a survey vaguely-- when they’d ask my age group, I’d do a quick Birdman hand rub and select “mid” like a villain. But, now?

Now, I’m late twenties. LegitAs in, I’m hoping my manager doesn’t need anything from me within the first 30 minutes of work because I won’t actually be there, late.

As in, this research paper was due at noon, It’s 1:30pm and I've tried to see how much bigger I can make this font, late. 

I’m sure you get the picture.

Here’s the thing though— A week into this, it’s not all that bad. It’s been dope, actually. Extremely enlightening and refreshing. Twenty-seven was a doozy. I had another quarter life crisis--something like the David Ruffin, ‘no one comes to see you, Otis!’ meltdown. Life was yoking my little ass up like Melvin did Jody, and then asked me if I wanted anything from the store. It met me in the alley like Harlem Nights, threatening to shoot me in my pinky toe. It was uh-gu-ly.

My love life was equally as amusing, frustrating, devastating and hilarious. A cross between Waiting to Exhale, and “Two Can Play That Game,” with a touch of “Hitch”.  Half the time, I didn’t know if I was living in real time or trapped in an alternate universe full of dudes who think it’s appropriate to send a passive aggressive Venmo request for your half of the date, or text after midnight talkin' bout, ‘wyd’.

What am I doing? Dreaming about all the ways I’m going to block you when I wake up.  (For clarity, the Venmo story didn’t happen to me, because y’all would have heard about it but, come on!)

The bottom line is, I survived 27, and although there are some events and milestones I thought I would have reached by now--like marriage, a brownstone, having a dog named Brooklyn and becoming a millionaire, (let’s all laugh together) I’m still in a great space.  It took a while to get here—to accept myself fully and completely. I am still figuring myself out, one day at a time and loving the woman I have become and am becoming.  I’m still learning, growing, crying (those who know me, know that I’m a cry baby) and moving forward at a pace that I am comfortable with. I'm running my own race and staying in my lane--which is a major key---recognizing both my shortcomings and my strengths, and reaching out for support where I find myself lacking.

Forget 25—THIS is my prime.

Twenty-eight also means, that It’s officially been 10 years since I’ve become a legal adult.  (Which they definitely should reconsider because I STILL find myself on the struggle bus to adulthood, so ain’t no way my 18-year-old self was ready to be one). I can honestly say that in the last 10 years, the amount of growth, change, peaks and lows, and life altering experiences, have all been worth it.

To commemorate this, instead of doing the traditional dinner last week, (don’t get me wrong—I went to brunch this past Sunday because, let’s be real, brunch is life)—I decided to approach this new season in my life, and closing/opening chapters as it pertains to my personal and professional growth with a symbolic gesture.

I released balloons off of a Brooklyn rooftop with words of affirmation, dreams and wishes for myself for this new year on earth and moving forward.  My friends also put their dreams and wishes for me on the balloons and released them, and we toasted with champagne. It was a perfect.

As the prophet and my emotional future husband Drake says, what a time to be alive. The thing I was afraid of, ended up being just fine, and I am embracing all that this new age has to offer.  I am indeed, just getting started.