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It’s September 2, ladies and gents. You know what that means. It’s the beginning of the “-ber” months.

{Inserts circa 2000 Birdman bird call and rubs hands….circa 2000 Birdman of course}

Don’t fret, older generation. This term “-ber” isn’t exclusively millennial. It isn’t millennial at all. This is just something I, Aaricka, made up. Yesterday.

There are officially four months that end with the suffix “-ber”. Of course, you already know this because it’s been decided on since we decided as a civilization to use the Roman calendar to live this thing called life. Let’s go crazy.

I digress. My point is, I have approximately 3 and a half months left to live my life as a fully functioning 25 year old. This year has been too good to me.

I started out my birth month in freakin’ D.C. — which, according to many of my friends, is the city I belong in. What’s D.C. called again?

Just name a few. Black Mecca. The Chocolate City. The Place where dreams come true (or the Place where dreams apparently die post- November 2016).

After spending 5 days touring the city that would be any history buff’s American dream, I had a big birthday dinner with all of my friends in Houston, Texas (🙏🏽) at my favorite restaurant in the city, Max’s Wine Dive. There was so much love, I almost cried every 10 seconds. At the end of the month, during the holidays, my family came to visit. We all had a ball and they got the chance to see my glorious one bedroom apartment in the best neighborhood I’ve ever lived in — the Texas Medical Center. We also went to San Antonio to visit my cousins.

As you can see, it will be very difficult to top my 25th month long birthday celebration. My 25th year of life was quite an adventurous one: I started substitute teaching at YES Prep which was a truly great experience. I ended a long gruesome months long season of underemployment. I sold all my things and moved out of my expensive, lofty apartment. I traveled 15 and a half grueling hours from Houston to Indianapolis. I met some fellow passionate, altruistic people in Minneapolis for training for a program. I imagined myself as Prince. I became Prince sans motorcycle. I went to a Prince tribute concert (yesterday, actually).

And I began a new position with an education organization a month ago today. It’s been a journey and a half to get where I am today. Today, by the way, I’m studying for my GRE. Simply put, I want to take my ambitious ass to grad school soon. We shall see how that works out (wink, wink).

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I had a small, barely noticeable breakdown yesterday on September 1st. (Of course, you didn’t notice it. I barely noticed it).

Small, barely noticeable breakdown = I had 10 thoughts about turning 26.

  1. Will people still think I’m 18? Or will I start getting pseudo compliments from people telling me how good I look…from people that assume I’m older?
  2. What does 26 even mean? I knew what 25 was, but 26 sounds scary.
  3. I’m closer to 30. OhmygoshBeckylookatherAGE!!!
  4. It’s time to get on my self-love and self-care grind.
  5. Should I wear more makeup now?
6. Should I stop dancing in my car to Prince Greatest Hits and Beyoncé’s B Day Album on Spotify? What if the JAM sesh just happens?

7. This GRE thing is hard as hell.

8. Hold up…did my back just crack? And why did it just take me 30 seconds to get off of the floor/chair? Why did I grunt while standing up?

9. I need to take care of myself.

10. Aaricka, stop worrying. You are exactly who you are and where you are for a reason. You are supposed to be here. You are the perfect person for the job. You are awesome. You are growing. You are aware of yourself. Double A, you love God, you love yourself and you love people.

Oh, and just to remind you, you’re about to be 26 in 3 and a half months.

Turn up and Smile. You’re on Candid Camera.

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