27.

I used to dread growing older.

Every year, at least two months before my birthday, I'd wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares that I was 23, 24, 25, 26 and so on. It seems as though I didn't understand the magnitude of my own fear of growing a year older. I didn't like the concept of birthdays. I hated knowing that my youth will slip further and further away from me, and that I would have nothing to show for it.

This year, it felt different. Things felt different. For some reason, I didn't dread turning 27. I didn't care that I now officially was closer to my 30s and I am no longer in the category of saying I'm in my mid-20s. Even with 26, I couldn't get the words out. 26 isn't mid-20s...now we're just splitting hairs here.

I look back on 26, and I have to say, it was a mad decent year. It actually really was. I learned a lot, gained a lot, worked my way through a lot of hills, battled adversities, tried to learn how to be a contributing member to society, started the first year of my career, the usual. It definitely was a year that didn't go to waste. I was determined to prove myself as someone of worth and value--in many different aspects of my life. I feel like I did what any usual 26-year-old typically goes through--woke up petty, went to work petty, had petty thoughts, tweeted petty things, went to the gym petty, and went to bed petty then woke up in the morning and did it all over again.

Ha. In all seriousness though, and pettiness aside, 26 was the year I told myself that an unproductive day was a day wasted. A day would go to waste if I couldn't look at myself in the morning at 6:30 a.m. as soon as I woke up to remind myself that I'll be the best possible Gina I could be and just absolutely pour every single ounce of energy and effort I had into anything I did for that day, then be able to go to bed at night as I turn out the lights and close my eyes to ask myself, was I the best possible Gina I could be today? and respond with an honest "YES."

That's what 26 was for me. If I couldn't do that, then I failed. And it was a day wasted, a day that I was never to get back.

I've told a select few that's my way of life every day, when they ask me how I function properly. I've been asked that question a lot--how do you do what you do, how do you have so much energy still, or they ask me questions about my work ethic. It's simple really--work hard, play hard. Anyone knows that.

But when I explain to them what being the best possible Gina I could be in all aspects and areas of my life, it's literally just that...anything and everything. Live more. Breathe more. Feel more. Just live and carry out all your normal functions and bask in the gratuitous fact that I have working limbs, a working heart and brain and lungs to be utilized to be the best Gina I could be.

Making eggs in the morning? Put in extra pepper. Making coffee? Make that ish bitter until I'm shaking and can't stop. Leaving for work? Let's leave an extra 10 minutes early if I got ready quicker than other days, so I can clock in early so I can have extra time to get things done, and pick up things I didn't have time to do the day before. Got to the office? For the next eight hours, I do everything I possibly can in my power to get the job done. Get things done before my editors even ask me. If my editors ask me about updating something, I tell them it's already done, it's ready for an edit. Tie up those loose ends, file those requests, assign coworkers or help them with their things, knock on every possible door and avenue to get a story done. It didn't matter. Never give up, never quit. Feel overwhelmed? Step outside for a second.

It's off the clock. I stay late, as per usual, but never bill OT because I'm just happy to be at the office for 10 hours straight without taking a lunch break. I like being relied on. If my editors had to rely on me for something and I got it done, then I consider that a good workday NOT wasted. I go to the gym. I work out extra hard at the gym. I had that extra baguette today from Panera, or had some carbs, so I'm going to run twice as fast. Let's add 10 more pounds to those weights. Let's add an extra rep round for those dead lifts and squats. Push myself until it's hard for me to breathe and I start feeling dizzy. Okay.

I get home, make dinner, go to bed, and as I brush my teeth I look at myself in the mirror and ask, "Did I do everything I possibly could today to really squeeze out every ounce of effort that I had in my body to make my day that much more productive? To make myself that much of a contributor to society? To remind myself of my worth, and that I matter? Or did I waste my day and I got nothing done?"

If I can honestly answer Yes, then I did my job for the day. I was the best Gina I could possibly be. Same goes for emotions too. Did I really feel today? Did I feel feelings? Did I feel angry, upset, emotional, overwhelmed? Did I get in touch with my mental health? When I felt negative, was I able to accept that, find a way to help myself feel better, then felt better and moved on to bigger and better and more important things waiting for me?

Yes.

Someone once mentioned to me I'd get burnt out if I overworked myself like that. I don't see it as overworking and believe me, I find time to set aside to be at peace and unwind. I've had my fair share of lazy days, believe me. I can be lazier than shit. It's just that, as I grow older I realize how much I hate being lazy and how I love it when I'm swamped.

That's what 26 was about...and I know that 27 isn't going to be any different. And I made a stunning revelation--maybe that's why I'm not dreading getting older. There we go. That's it.

Why is that?

Earlier in this post I referenced the feeling I used to have about getting older and not having anything to show for it. What I meant by that was, essentially, I always had this fear and apprehension that I'm going to only grow older to not have accomplished anything, set any goals, let alone reach any of them, and just become a burn out, washed up bum who isn't and hasn't done anything meaningful with her life. That was my biggest fear as I grew older.

I'm a person who always sets deadlines for herself. It makes sense--I face deadlines every day in my profession, so it makes sense that I've always set deadlines for my life since I reached my 20s. I always felt like life was a ladder you climbed, or monkey rings at a playground. By this age, you have to go to college, by this age you have to have your degree, by this age, you have to have your first job. By this age, if you can afford it, I should use some of my time to get a post-graduate degree. By this time you should've lived and worked and experienced different cultures in these different areas that you've never lived in before. By this time, I should have done x, y, and z. Climb that next step on the ladder, grab on to the next rung.

You get the picture.

And I always told myself that none of these things would ever get done until I make it happen. So with the willpower given to me by the grace of God, I worked. HARD. I worked my tail off for the last seven years. I told myself I wasn't going to waste life once I found a passion and pursued it.

I look back on every year on New Years and always assess how much I accomplished and handled that year. And every year, I'm not that disappointed. There are never any regrets, only mistakes to learn from. And I pat myself on the back for not giving up, for not throwing my hands up and crying out loud in frustration while yelling at myself for even trying, why did I even try when I knew I couldn't do it.

Twenty-six was the year I definitely made my fair share of mistakes...same with 25, 24 and so on. But as time went on, it was less "why did I even try when I knew I was going to fail" and more "I'm glad I gave it a go. And because I didn't give up, look at where we are now. I did it. I actually did it."

People always comment on my stamina as an individual. Listen, nobody's perfect. I hit roadblocks constantly. I beat myself up frequently. I hate myself always for being so this or that. I regret so much. I feel sad, listless, depressed just like the next girl. However, I grab the willpower from deep inside, and try my hardest to fix whatever is bothering me. Because at the end of the day, nobody can fix you except you. And of course, God. Without God, I couldn't have done anything I've done so far in my life. Without that willpower He bestowed upon me, nothing is possible.

Twenty-six was interesting. I walked with my M.S. Graduate class at Boston University last May to get my Masters diploma, broke some investigative stories that swayed public opinion, used my profession to change the course of many things and kept people informed, met and interviewed and kept my calm with Bernie Sanders on camera just a few days before the California primaries without pooping myself from anxiety, made friends with Congressional representatives, attorneys, judges, government officials, saw how the development I broke in Louisville during my internship two years ago still kept unfolding long after I left the city, reconnected with old colleagues and friends, you name it, I made it happen. Whatever I wanted to get done, I was able to do it with God by my side. Not a single day was wasted, and every minute was a blessing and a gain. Every day was just another new opportunity to be the best possible me I could be.

I'm ready to reach that next rung on the monkey rings, the next step on the ladder. You can only keep going up from here on out. 26 was a good chapter in my life, and I'm more than ready to begin the next one.

So say it with me one more time--Grow up along with me! The best is yet to be.

Alright 27, let's see what you got for me this year, yeah? Let's do this.