I spent the last night of my twenties with my best friend, someone that I’ve known for longer than I haven’t. She bought me a birthday card from the “Romantic” Birthday Card section of (presumably) Target (although, maybe Rite Aid now that I think of it). Her and her husband gifted me scotch and scotch glasses, because they realize that I’m a gentleman.

We ate a frozen supermarket pizza and break-and-bake cookies. We watched Parks and Rec, and I realized that the exterior of Tom’s Bistro is the first restaurant that I ever had dinner at in Los Angeles. We contemplated watching a PBS documentary about a Florida murder, but settled on just talking instead.

Although you wouldn’t be able to tell from my outline of tonight, it’s been a wild ride getting to 30. Even just a few years ago, I wouldn’t have thought that I’d be where I am right now. I think the Ghost of Meredith Past would be proud of some of it, surprised by most of it. The good kind of surprised.

…and I believe that that’s a fine way to live one’s life: in such a way that you’d cause your former self to be proud, but mostly surprised.

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