32 things I learned by the time I turned 32

If you only read a few, start with #10, #19 and #32.

Dec 20, 2025

As the year winds down, I’ve been taking stock — not in a resolutions way, but in a what actually happened to me way.

This year, I moved across the country. Twice.

Some moves are strategic.
Some are necessary.
Some only make sense after you’ve unpacked the last box and slept on the floor for a night, wondering who you thought you were two months ago.

I learned how quickly a life fits into boxes.
I learned which friendships survive time zones.
Which ones don’t need daily proximity to stay intact.
And which versions of myself quietly expired somewhere between packing tape and airport security.

I also learned how to be a better friend from far away — not in a “let’s catch up soon” way, but in a consistent, unglamorous, remembering-shit-that-matter way. The kind where distance stops being an excuse and starts being irrelevant.

Somewhere in the middle of all that movement, my roles shifted.

I became a sister who shows up without proving.
An aunt who actually slows down.
A daughter who listens without multitasking.
A granddaughter who finally understands that presence is the whole gift.

I was there when it counted.

But there were stretches this year when choosing myself felt premature — like moving before the evidence arrived. Staying put would’ve been easier to explain than moving forward without a clear fix.

And still, I kept choosing the quieter option.
Not the dramatic one.
Not the impressive one.
Just the one that felt a little more honest each time.

A few weeks ago, I turned thirty-two.

And for the first time, the year didn’t feel like a blur with highlights — it felt… legible. Like I could actually read what had changed and why.

So I wrote the patterns down.

Not because birthdays require insight, but because these lessons kept showing up until I finally stopped pretending I hadn’t noticed.

lessons on choosing myself

choosing myself rarely felt brave in the moment.
it mostly felt quiet.
occasionally awkward.
if something consistently costs me sleep, peace, or appetite, i’ve stopped calling it “worth it” out of loyalty.
if i’m confused, the answer is usually no — or at least not yet.
clarity doesn’t rush.
living like the version of myself i admire works faster than waiting to become her.
walking it first changes the rest.
before committing, i ask one question:
will future-me feel grateful — or merely compliant?
i don’t need closure as much as i need coherence.
some things make sense later.
some never do.
either way, i still move on.
some lessons don’t repeat because i didn’t understand them.
they repeat because i didn’t change my behavior.
nothing about this year was accidental.
even the detours were instructional.

lessons on nervous system literacy

drinking less alcohol didn’t just give me more energy.
it gave me cleaner data.
fewer emotional false positives.
my nervous system is persuasive, but not always correct.1
i pause before treating feelings like instructions.
regulation before decision-making is a skill i’m still practicing —
and one that keeps saving me.
i heal faster when i’m kind to myself.
judgment has never improved my accuracy.
peace isn’t boring.
it’s just quieter than chaos, which took some getting used to.
my body communicates more clearly when i listen daily,
not just when something is wrong.
important conversations do not belong to hungry or overtired versions of me.
snacks are strategy.2
rest is part of the work —
not a reward for finishing it.

lessons on small practices that quietly changed everything

warm lighting and a clear kitchen counter can shift my entire nervous system.
i no longer debate this.
seeking whimsy isn’t extra.
it’s load-bearing:
arranging hand-picked flowers for loved ones.
drinking water out of a wine glass.
opening the window just to hear the city breathe.
i can suck, but i don’t skip.
some days it’s a puddle-of-sweat-on-the-floor kind of effort.
some days it’s a gentle treadmill walk.
skipping is the habit i don’t let spread.3
when i stop scrolling, my thoughts arrive almost immediately.
they’re usually quieter than i expect —
and more useful.
eating enough protein and drinking enough water solved several problems i once thought were existential.
(humbling.)
writing things down before reacting has prevented several unnecessary spirals. documentation is care.
my mornings are a relationship.
how i treat them shows.
nature keeps explaining things to me if i give it time.
patterns make more sense outside.

lessons on standards, alignment, and relationships

taste is still my most reliable compass.
in clothes, in people, in rooms, in decisions.
it knows before i do.
love feels expansive.
when i start shrinking, i pay attention.
pretending not to care has cost me more than honesty ever did.
indifference is rarely neutral — it’s usually protective.
being misunderstood is survivable.
being misaligned is exhausting.
intent doesn’t erase impact.
i’m allowed to advocate for myself without assigning villainy.
respect comes from clarity, not impressiveness.
in words.
in actions.
in boundaries.
consistency is more attractive than intensity —
in people, habits, and promises.
i feel safest when my actions and values agree.
alignment is quieter than approval —
and i’ve stopped needing the noise.4

I don’t think this list is finished.
I think it’s just current.

If any of these landed for you — or contradicted something you’re learning — I’d love to hear it:

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