Happy birthday to me?

Everything I Thought Would Happen by 26 (Didn’t)

Hello, hello from Ibiza.

Yes, Ibiza. Happy birthday to me. I’m writing this newsletter waiting to board my flight, so by the time it reaches you, I’ll be partying at the best club in the world.

No, I didn’t plan it like this. But I’ve decided now, birthday trips are tradition. So maybe life knew better before I did.

This is my European summer, my single, sun-kissed, lemon-sorbet-in-hand kind of season. And honestly? It feels right.

Last year, I turned 25 on another island, with people I thought would stay in my life forever. Watching sunset by the sea and laughing out loud. Most of them have. Some… not so much.

This year? I’m eating lemon sorbet on the Amalfi coast, walking 20k steps a day because it makes me feel like I’m moving forward, even when I don’t know where to. I’ve seen Rome and finally understood why it wasn’t built in a day. I danced with strangers in the square, threw a coin in the Trevi Fountain, drank enough wine and limoncello spritz to lose track of time, and also sense. (They really go 100% on the alcohol there) Turns out, Italy loves you back even when you arrive confused, chaotic, and glowing with SPF 50.

I went to Disneyland Paris!!! And it wasn’t like the movies. It was like the cartoons. You can’t believe your eyes and it is unreal!!

When I was younger, I always thought I’d visit Paris with my husband. That’s what people said, that’s what movies promised, that’s what my mother expected. But last week, I stood under the Eiffel Tower on a girls trip, with my sister and my mom. Bought another fridge magnet and collected souvenirs.

When I was watching Mamma Mia last month, I realised that growing up, I didn’t even know that kind of independence, that kind of freedom, would ever find me. But it did, And I’m glad.

I’ve been living intentionally lately. Not perfectly. But with intention. Saying more yes than no. Booking the ticket, leaving early, drinking water, doing Pilates like my life depends on it.

Sometimes I have three plans in a day, not because I’m overly social, but because, it’s a carefully curated coping mechanism. But it keeps me alive. So does a chocolate croissant at 9 a.m., sleepovers with my girls, and walking more even when I could take the bus.

My bestest friend got engaged last week, another had a baby, another is starting her master’s. And I might be moving countries again. I know the rhythm by now, the packing, the goodbyes, the pretending it’s no big deal, when it always is.

I feel like everyone’s moving forward in straight lines, and I’m this sparkler of a person, glowing, yes, but a little all over the place.

But I’ve learned something, having feelings isn’t foolish, it’s brave. Feeling is the opposite of numbness. And I’ve been numb before. I never want to go back.

I thought by 26, I’d be settled. Maybe married. Maybe more sure. But here I am, still figuring out how to be soft in a world that wants me to be sharp. 26 was sold to me as stability, like by now, I’d know how to fold a fitted sheet, like I’d have figured out who I’m meant to be with, where I want to live, as if the chaos of my early 20s would finally melt into a calm, curated life that makes sense.

But it’s still messy.

It’s still late-night overthinking and early-morning alarms I snooze three times. It’s still changing my outfit five times before going out and not knowing what I want to do with my life. And that’s okay. I’m slowly learning that your growth doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. You’re allowed to want consistency and adventure. You’re allowed to miss people who left, and still feel glad they did. You’re allowed to bloom slowly, strangely, beautifully, like late-summer lavender.

If you’re reading this and feeling a little wobbly too, like everyone else has a map and you just have blurry landmarks and half-baked dreams, here’s something I’d want a therapist to say to both of us, You’re not late. You’re not lost. You’re just becoming.

I’ve spent the last few years in motion, new jobs, new cities, new versions of myself. And now? I want a little stillness. Not forever. Just long enough to hear myself think again.

So, happy 26 to me.

And maybe to you, too,

if you’re somewhere between becoming and belonging.

Until next time,

Love,

Janhavi