$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

I’m feeling 32.

I turned 32 this weekend. It’s not exactly a milestone year — not the clean, celebrated roundness of 30 or the midlife-marked gravity of 40. It’s somewhere in between. Less fireworks, more… motion. Like inching forward on the rollercoaster of life after the first big drop — not quite thrilling, but still moving.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about achievement for achievement’s sake. For most of my 32 years, I’ve been a doer. The good grades. The next opportunity. The promotions and progress — always ahead of the curve, or at least trying to be.

But lately, I’ve been asking myself: for what?

There’s a lyric from Nicolle Galyon’s song Winner that’s been echoing in my head:

  “What good is being a winner when all you’re doing is keeping score?”

And really — who’s even keeping score anyway?

A year ago, I entered 31 on top of the world. I had done it. I landed my dream job — the one I’d been working toward for years — doing work I believed in, with a title I was proud of, and finally, a salary that made me feel secure – all at the age of 30. 

It felt good. I pictured the holiday season ahead, walking into family gatherings with my head held high. I’d finally made it.

I could almost see it: me at the holiday table, passing the biscuits —

“Oh, me? Yeah, no, I’m actually doing really well…” (insert humble brag about job title and accomplishments here)

But when the moment came, it fell flat. Nobody really cared — or maybe, I just didn’t care. I found myself far more excited about baking cookies and sharing my favorite mac and cheese recipe than talking about work.

And a year later, I have found that all that striving, all the climbing, led to titles I didn’t even want, in rooms that felt more like cages than opportunities.

We’ve all heard stories of people who seem to “have it all” — the career, the success, the life that looks perfect on paper — but who are quietly miserable. And if you haven’t heard one, don’t worry. Hallmark will start rolling out its holiday lineup soon, full of ambitious women who leave their corner offices to rediscover joy in small towns with charming bakeries and men in flannel.

It hits different, though, when it’s not a movie — when you see it in front of you and then when you start to feel it happening to you.

So, as I step into 32, I’m shifting my focus as I make it a year of intentionality and fit over ambition and performance.

A year of projects over progress, messy moves over money moves, presence over pressure.

I’ll still be stretching, growing, trying, and failing — but this time, it will be for me. Each step will be in service of curiosity, connection, and play. Of building memories, not résumés.

Here’s to 32 — a year of coming home to myself.

And here’s to you, wherever you are on your own ride — in a world full of uncertainty and economic worry, may you keep choosing what makes you you. Because what the world needs right now is a whole lot more of you. 

Until next week — take care, and make room for moments that turn into memories.

Everett