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thr last twelve months of my life have seen many ups and downs and changes. 

My mother had emergency surgery-surgery that was not only life saving, but risky. She came out of it in a ventilator, a completely different reason why she went in. She is today healed and doing well (although she’s still smoking, go figure). 

I became a mother. The biggest change-up and down and sideways-of my whole life. I am both enamoured with this new life and stressed with all it entails. I am madly in love, still in shock, and baffled beyond belief at how much my tiny human has grown. 

I have every reason in the world to be happy. And yet…

There is still one aspect of my life that disappoints me. Don’t misconstrue my meaning. I like my job. Most days. The last four days at work in particular have been pretty good. Except for one or two minor snafus they’ve been decent. 

But as is the way of human nature, I’m not satisfied. My job isn’t one that’s going anywhere. Developing the skills I’ve gotten in the last six years will only lead to other places within the company. Well, after six months are up. And other places within the company are not places I “aspire” to be. 

There are worse places to work for, worse managers to answer to, worse “clientele” to assist. I can honestly say, I have no complaints with my workplace, co-workers, managers, or customers. Most of my problems begin with me, and are only exacerbated by how I react to what goes on around me (life, amirite?). My own personality traits are my downfall. 

But it all this boils down to the simple fact that I am not satisfied. 

Lately more than ever I’ve been longing for something more. Fulfillment. I want to do something that means something. I want to come home every day after work and be happy with what I’m doing. 

Good days at work are great. Amazing in fact. Good moods make for great days. I’ve been in a great mood this last week. Because what’s the point to being in a bad mood? It’s not getting you anywhere. 

I then 31 in three days. And I can’t help but think I’ve wasted a huge part of those 31 years not being as happy as I can be. 

I have my bachelors degree in elementary education. In order to teach, at this point, I’d have to either spend a bunch of money in tests spend a bunch of money on starting my graduate degree. And either way there is no guarantees. In fact, you need experience to get a job (employment, amirite?). 

I’d love to go into journalism. Once again, spending money. This time on working in a whole new degree. 

I don’t know. I’d love to do something more, something great, something that I can be proud to tell my child when I get asked, “Mommu, what’s your job?”

But right now, at almost 31, I’m stuck. 

Happy birthday to me.