August 17th, y’all! It’s officially my birthday, and I’m not gonna lie, 35 kind of curb stomped me a little bit. When I look back at everything I went through over the last 365 days, the tally is… dizzying. New big girl job? Check. Big break up? Yup. Apartment move? That too. Dad in the hospital, then in hospice, then passes away just three months later? Uh huh. You get the picture. Within the absolute cluster bomb of a year I’ve also been trying to, you know, grow and heal and just fucking SURVIVE with a shred of sanity intact. In other words, we had a time at 35 and I’m extremely ready to kiss this tornado of a year goodbye and good riddance.

So! What did we learn, kids? Because one of the only ways I’ve managed to not curl up into a pile of tangled blonde hair formerly known as Hannah is by accepting that the universe is trying to teach me something. Testing me? Abso-fucking-lutely. But I refuse to believe that someone goes through the scope of what I’ve experienced during my 35th year without looking towards the sky and admitting that it’s time to take notes. Like, OKAY mysterious forces out of my control! I am sat, I am listening, I am at your mercy. I know I have to pay close attention, now more than ever, since I’m kicking off 36 with one of the biggest life decisions I’ve ever made (more on that in a second).

Well, for one, I know that I’m a lot fucking stronger than I give myself credit for. I always knew that I thrive in chaos and amidst deadlines and with a splash of frenetic energy. It’s why I think I’m good at my job, a good friend, and why I haven’t wound up destitute on the side of the New York City sidewalk. 35 decided to crank that dial allllll the way up and watch me dance. Now I understand that the only way to make it through those moments is to accept that you can’t control or change it. It’s so simple it almost hurts. Correction—it hurts so, so much.

So you breathe. You call your friends and cry ugly, snotty tears through the phone. You sleep and when you can’t, you cry some more, then take the drugs your kind and understanding doctor prescribed for you. You make the same pantry pasta dish night after night because you don’t have the brain space to feed yourself anything more complicated. One foot in front of the other, one agonizing day at a time. Slow, a little wobbly, but you don’t stop. That’s not how your dad raised you.

Sometimes I just have to laugh. You know those days when you’re so fucking busy and someone asks you to take on one more thing and an involuntary chuckle erupts from your mouth? I’ve had more of those moments this year than I can count. Honestly, it feels like I’d have a permanent “what the actual fuck” open mouth expression plastered across my face if I wasn’t extremely mindful. And by that point, it’s so crazy, so unfathomable, that you just have to throw your head back and cackle. Do you look a little unhinged in those moments? 100 percent. But that’s what the privacy of your apartment is for, with an audience of one very sympathetic, snuggly cat.

Laughing in the face of so much hurt and sadness and rage and confusion is honestly the best defense I’ve found over the last 12 months. Whether it’s with my dearest friends who have stood by me through every tearful, overwhelming moment, yapping over coffee or martinis like we’re in our twenties again. Or flirting with someone cute and kind over a game of dive bar pool. Or snuggling my perfect, delicious nephew and vowing to make him belly laugh the way my dad, his doting grandfather, would have done every single day if he could. Those tiny pockets of joy are one of the only ways to buoy yourself through the lowest of the low moments. And despite the utter exhaustion I feel if I try to carry the entirety of the last year in my hands, I still feel outrageously lucky.

I am lucky for the love and compassion my community gives me. I am lucky for a family that feels more precious than ever. I am lucky that the fruits of my hard work have resulted in a career I am proud of. And I am so deeply, incredibly, mind-blowingly lucky to feel like I am the most confident, comfortable, fully-formed version of myself, despite (or maybe because of) the last year’s turmoil. Maybe that’s why I decided to buy myself a little studio apartment for my birthday.

Wait… what?