What 34 Taught Me About Joy
I used to mourn my birthdays. Not dramatically, quietly. The kind of mourning you don’t tell anyone about because it sounds ungrateful, maybe even a little strange. Growing older felt like something to endure rather than celebrate, so every year, I let the day pass with as little fanfare as possible.
Since turning 31, I had fallen into a rhythm of barely finding excitement in things. 33 was no different. And if I’m honest, 34 was shaping up to be exactly the same, until it wasn’t.
Something shifted in these last few months. Since committing more time and creativity to building BE Lifestyl, I’ve released so much: worry, self-doubt, and the quiet negativity I’d been carrying around like it belonged to me. In its place, I’ve been making room for joy. Not the loud, performative kind. The small, steady kind that shows up in the morning before anyone else is awake, in a journal entry that surprises you, in a piece of content that takes longer than expected but feels exactly right when it’s done.
These last few months have stretched me, physically and mentally, in ways I didn’t know I was capable of. I’ve poured a lot into my family, without an ounce of regret, but often from a leaking pot.
You know that feeling. When you’re giving and giving and giving, and somewhere along the way, you realise the pot you’re pouring from has a hole in it. Nobody filled it. You didn’t notice the draining until you were nearly empty. Finding joy in my daily life, in small, intentional moments, has been what’s kept that pot from drying out completely. It’s something I’m deeply grateful for.
And now, turning 34, I’m more committed than ever to sealing that hole. To filling the pot on purpose, not just in response to being empty.
So what does year 34 look like for me?
It looks like going hard on my goals, not because I have something to prove, but because I finally, genuinely believe I’m worth betting on. It looks like making time for rest and self-care in whatever form I need, without guilt and without explanation. It looks like dressing up because I want to, because my body is worthy of celebration right now, not ten pounds from now. It looks like embracing where I am while continuing to become.
Most of all, it looks like joy. Chosen, intentional, unapologetic joy.
34 is not a destination. It’s a direction. And for the first time in a long time, I’m genuinely excited about where I’m going.
Now I want to hear from you.
Did any of this resonate with you? Are you in a season of becoming too or have you recently stepped into one? Maybe you’re still figuring out what joy looks like for you right now.
Whatever it is, drop it in the comments below. I read every single one and I’d love to hold space for whatever you’re carrying today.
Until next time,
Still becoming. Still being. Still celebrating.
