For the last several birthday posts I’ve been a bit arrogant in divulging my travels, fancy meals, epic parties, you get the point.

This year, I’m happy to be alive.

Not just because I’m alive, but because there’s a lot to be happy about. I’m out of shape, a bit stressed, I started smoking cigarettes again, ew. I quit again too, woo hoo. I don’t get full nights of sleep yet (the accident), and when I do I have wildly exhausting dreams. My hangovers last for three days, and if I eat shit I gain weight. Age, am I right? Too much coffee gives me heart burn, too much food sits on the hips, too much alcohol still makes me the loudest girl at the bar.

Wtf? I said I was happy, not sloppy. Well, it turns out I’m a living, breathing human who falls down almost as often as I stand up. I get really scared sometimes and hide under the covers with a water bottle, because you never know when you might be thirsty. I pack chocolate in my handbag, because I know there’s nothing more immediately effective for calming a spurt of rage. I kick people out of my house at 10pm so I can secretly scroll through cat videos on Facebook before dropping the phone on my face (ironic) and calling it a night.

I made a bunch of New Years resolutions. It was literally the best thing I ever did. Because I actually stuck to them. I gave people the benefit of the doubt, I figuratively “trust falled” all my friends, I bought canvas and paints, I created a space that was truly mine and protected it when necessary. And it was all working, until it wasn’t.

March 4th, my house was violently broken into and then three days later my office in the same fashion. It seemed possible that someone might be out to get me. That was rough. After a less than easy three weeks of dealing with Kenyan police, shitty landlords, and insurance brokers, I moved out. I left an apartment that I had grown so incredibly attached to over two plus years in Nairobi. But this was about protecting my space, and so I did.

Is this post still about happiness??

One week after moving in, I went to Auroville, India and one day I will write a post to try and put into words what an incredible experience it was…

I was asked what I do for creativity. To which my first response was, “I exercise?” The conversation got a little deeper, and what I realized is that I had given up the “fun” parts of me for the “functional.” My life in Nairobi had reduced to work, exercise, critical friendships, and sleep, amongst a few necessary attitude changes. Hey, overall not a bad life. But all of these are functional identifiers. While we choose our friends, and our work, or how we work out – they still become routines. I didn’t make space for growth.

This stuck with me, Auroville stuck with me. I came home happy and thankful, eager to build new meaning in what seemed like a routine life. I couldn’t stop raving about friends and places, being by the sea and moving through the forest. I decided to cook, and sing. Buy a guitar and learn how to play. Finish the paintings I started, and change up the way I do things and interact with people.

And then I got hit by a car. Now, given the flavor of this last year, and especially these last few months, I had every reason to throw in the towel. Give up, leave Kenya, write it off as a wild adventure – I’d worn out my welcome. But instead, I just felt immense gratitude.

Grateful for my best friend who literally ran on foot to find me.

Grateful for her boyfriend who dealt with the woman who hit me.

Grateful for another friend who arranged a bed in the best hospital for me to skip the waiting room

Grateful for the friend who carried me from the ground to the car, and between hospital beds for x-rays

Grateful for my brother who answered his phone in the middle of the night to give advice.

Grateful for my boda boda driver who dealt with the cops, rescued my bike and had it fully fixed for me.

Grateful to my employees who showed up to show support.

Grateful for my group of friends who bought food, games, booze, and crafts to each and every day for the following week.

Grateful for the friend who helped to me doctors appointments, let me squeeze her arm when they peeled off skin and bandages.

Grateful for my team who worked from my home.

Grateful for my doctor and physical therapist who’ve gone above and beyond to speed up my recovery.

I know I shouldn’t have to be hit by a car to know how invested I am in my people and my home, but it felt life changing.

I’m still healing, and it’s not always easy or glamorous. But my heart is so full. I’ve resumed cooking, started taking more weekend trips, smiling more, and taking serious things just a little less seriously.

I’m happy, and I’m alive, and I’m happy to be alive.