On January 15th, I turned 39. Thirty-freaking-nine. On January 14th, I had the wonderful honour and pleasure of celebrating with two of my favourite people in the whole world – my brother and my sister(in-law). They introduced Dave and me to the very best sushi that we have ever eaten at Minami in Yaletown, followed by cocktails and maple cotton candy at The Victor. It was so much fun and the perfect way to kick off my 39th year.
There is something about this number that makes me feel like I had better get my shit together, though. 39 isn’t a ‘cute’ 30. 39 means that I am about to be 40… which is undeniably a middle-aged adult.
To start this year, I have a leg up that I have never had before. Just before Christmas, I was finally diagnosed with a mental condition that I had suspected that I might have but had never been diagnosed with. It turns out that my depression is only half the story and that the other half comes from having Bipolar Disorder 2. This means that I can have long bouts of depression followed by short bouts (days or weeks) of hypomania (Hypomania is an abnormally revved-up state of mind that affects your mood, thoughts, and behaviour, and is a potential symptom of bipolar disorder, particularly type II. A hypomanic episode commonly manifests with unusual gaiety, excitement, flamboyance, or irritability, along with potential secondary characteristics like restlessness, extreme talkativeness, increased distractibility, reduced need for sleep, and intense focus on a single activity. per Harvard Health Publishing).
What does this mean for 39? I hope that it means that I am more likely to get said shit together and to understand why I am the way that I am. I hope it means that I can be kinder and more understanding to myself. I hope that it means that I learn to feel like a grown-up and to act like one.
After all, 39 is not a ‘cute’ 30s.😘