No longer 25. Note to self: Must update blog title.

My 26th birthday was a happy one. I had dinner with Doug in this little city we moved to a year ago. I got calls and texts from good friends. I ate most of a chocolate-frosted chocolate cake all by myself. And I bid farewell to my job and my storage closet office. (Have I ever mentioned that my office was a storage closet- complete with storage?)

I sat in my storage closet alone with the lights out that last time for a few extra minutes (lights turn out automatically if you go ten minutes without standing up). I have always been a big believer in giving goodbyes the respect they deserve. Not just to people, but to places and objects. I have always had the sense that walls and rooms have feelings, that they come to love the people who use them and miss them when they go. I remember being sad leaving the middle school bathroom on my last day of 8th grade. I remember taking a moment to bid a heartfelt adieu to the storage room at California Pizza Kitchen. Don’t even get me started on old dorm rooms and apartments.

But I was not sad leaving my storage closet with bar-style seating against the two-way mirror. I didn’t talk to it, the way I’ve been known to talk aloud to rooms as I leave them the last time. I didn’t quietly stammer, “You and me, little storage closet… for so long its been you and me.”

You want to know what I did when I last looked at my storage closet? I rolled my eyes at it. For realziez.

I’m always sad to leave everything. But I’m not sad to leave this. I’m always conflicted about every decision. But I’m not conflicted about this one.

I’m glad this change came on my birthday, exactly one year after I moved here. I can appreciate the narrative shape of my story. You don’t have to be a writer to know that this symbolizes a fresh start.