a few years ago, i made a decision.
on my birthday, i get whatever i want.
not in a flashy, expensive, throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of way.
just in a very simple, very deliberate way.
if it’s my birthday, i get to spend the day doing my favourite things with my favourite person.
me.
it started because i realised i was spending far too much time waiting.
waiting for someone to come with me.
waiting for the right relationship.
waiting for people to be available.
waiting for life to line up perfectly before i allowed myself to enjoy it.
and somewhere along the way i thought, this is ridiculous.
why am i waiting for permission to enjoy my own life?
so every year now, my birthday is mine.
no guilt.
no obligations.
no expectations.
just a day dedicated to things that make me feel alive.
this year, that looked like a solo trip to yamba.
and if you’d told the 25-year-old version of me that one day i’d happily spend my birthday week alone in a beach house, i wouldn’t have believed you.
not because i didn’t like my own company.
but because i thought being alone meant something was missing.
now i know better.
sometimes being alone is when you can finally hear yourself.
i arrived in yamba carrying a lot more than my suitcase.
work stress.
disappointment.
questions i didn’t have answers to.
that feeling that you’ve spent months fighting battles you never wanted to fight.
the truth is, this year has been harder than i expected.
there have been moments where i’ve questioned myself.
moments where i’ve wondered whether i was too much.
too sensitive.
too emotional.
too difficult.
too ambitious.
moments where i found myself shrinking to make other people comfortable.
and if you’ve ever done that, you’ll know how exhausting it is.
because eventually you wake up one day and realise you’ve become a smaller version of yourself.
not because you wanted to.
but because survival slowly became more important than joy.
i think that’s what i was running from when i booked yamba.
not my life.
just the version of me that had forgotten how good life can feel.
the thing about travelling alone is that there is nowhere to hide.
no distractions.
no conversations to fill the silence.
no one else deciding what happens next.
just you.
and that can be confronting.
but it can also be incredibly healing.
i slept when i was tired.
read books on the deck.
walked along the beach.
watched sunrises.
had long coffees.
ate food that made me happy.
spent far too much time staring at the ocean.
and somewhere during those quiet moments, something shifted.
not dramatically.
not in a movie montage kind of way.
just softly.
like a knot loosening.
like taking a deep breath after you’ve been holding it for months.
one morning i stood on the beach watching the waves roll in.
the sun was coming up.
the ocean was doing what the ocean does.
and i had one of those moments where life suddenly felt incredibly simple.
not easy.
simple.
i realised that peace isn’t something you earn after you’ve fixed everything.
it’s not waiting at the finish line.
it’s available right now.
in the coffee.
in the ocean.
in the cinnamon scroll.
in the conversations with strangers.
in the walk.
in the book.
in the sunshine.
in the fact that you’re alive and lucky enough to experience any of it at all.
for so much of my life i’ve treated happiness like a destination.
i’ll be happy when...
when i find the relationship.
when i get the promotion.
when i earn the money.
when the business works.
when everyone likes me.
when everything finally settles down.
but standing there on that beach, i realised happiness has never been hiding in the future.
it’s always been sitting in the present waiting for me to notice it.
one of the biggest gifts solo travel has given me is proof.
proof that i can create a beautiful life on my own.
not because i want to do everything alone forever.
i don’t.
i would love someone to share adventures with.
i would love someone to dance in the kitchen with.
i would love someone who sees the world the way i do.
but i don’t want to wait for that person before i start living.
that’s the difference.
the life comes first.
the partner is a bonus.
not the prerequisite.
and that has changed everything.
when i think about turning 42, i don’t feel older.
i feel freer.
i trust myself more than i ever have.
my intuition.
my resilience.
my ability to rebuild when things don’t go to plan.
the older i get, the less interested i am in impressing people.
and the more interested i am in peace.
real peace.
the kind that comes from knowing who you are.
the kind that comes from choosing yourself.
the kind that comes from sitting alone on a beach in yamba thinking,
“i actually really like my life.”
that’s a big sentence.
especially after the year i’ve had.
that’s a really big sentence.
and maybe that’s the lesson 42 has given me.
that peace matters more than approval.
that my intuition is usually right.
that the people who are meant for me won’t require me to become smaller.
that beautiful things still happen, even in hard years.
that i don’t need permission to take up space.
that i can trust myself to build a life i love.
so if you’re reading this and waiting for someone to go with you...
take the trip.
if you’re waiting until you feel confident...
go before you feel ready.
if you’re waiting for life to stop being messy...
you’ll be waiting forever.
book the ticket.
watch the sunrise.
order the good wine.
eat the cinnamon scroll.
spend your birthday exactly how you want.
because the most important relationship you’ll ever have is the one you have with yourself.
and sometimes the greatest gift you can give yourself is proof that your life doesn’t start when someone else arrives.
it starts the moment you decide to stop waiting.
and go anyway.