It's been more than a week since I turned 31 and I don't think I've really written a thank you anywhere. But there is definitely so much to be grateful for.
This year was quieter than usual. There was a mid-day surprise by way of a paper wall of different birthday images (my favorite: grumpy cat with a cupcake) with messages from the Candy team and our Cosmo web neighbors. It seems like such a trivial thing, but anything handwritten—on a Post-It, on a cute Beatles card, on stationery slipped quietly into a present—makes me extra giddy these days. I taped my birthday notes on my bedroom door so I'm reminded every day how blessed I am. So that I remember that I'm surrounded by people who genuinely care for me.
Last night, I nervously went up to the vocalist of possibly my most favorite band in the world and handed him cards with lyrics from two of my favorite mae songs. I didn't tell him how their music became a soundtrack to my life, how I bought my ticket without knowing if I'd have anyone to see the show with, or how I've waited four years to hear him sing their songs live again. He signed the card I kept with "thank you for the love and support" and when I handed him one I wanted him to keep, he said, "You have to write something on it too." And all I had to say was this: "Thank you for coming back."
Let's write letters again. I think it's a beautiful habit to keep.
