I’ll be 28.
It feels strange to say. It’s late twenties. For sure. I will have to change my bio from mid-twenties {the high side} next week. It’s not the number, I don’t think, as much as it is the associations I put on to it. Even now when I think, or when I picture, a 28 year old I picture someone much older than I am. More established. More settled. More sure of their path.
And then I remember that all those comparisons are what drives me crazy. So I stop.
But mostly, as I reflect on the ending of my 28th year and the commencement of my 29th on this planet I was handed a timely reminder to just how far I have come. A reminder of who I am. Yesterday, in my office, there was a discussion about handwriting. The new lady commented that I have confident handwriting. Large, bold handwriting. That it is confident looking. I laughed and said that it was because I am, pretty, confident. Ms Iris laughed harder and said, pretty! Are you kidding. Hugely, might be a better word.
And I realised that this assurance, this willingness to be ridiculous or to be straight and to be me, while allowing others to be themselves, that IS confidence. And through the training and development I have done. Through life and it’s lessons. And through the wise guiding experience of those around me, I now have it.
I am {virtually} 28 and confident. Comfortable. Assured.
And I still get butterflies meeting new people.
And making speeches.
And dancing.
But the best part is, these days, I do them anyway.
Win!
Suger 
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