July 7, 2014 | Seventh Heaven — Twenty-Four Years, Several Unexpected Detours, and a Birthday That Made Me Question My Arithmetic

There is something mildly offensive about the way birthdays continue arriving whether or not we have accomplished everything we planned for the previous year. I remember turning twenty-three with a head full of ambitions, an impressive collection of expectations, and the rather optimistic assumption that twelve months would provide sufficient time to arrange my life into something resembling a sensible plan. Apparently, the universe found that suggestion amusing. It handed me hospital duties, unfamiliar responsibilities, a few disappointments, some difficult family circumstances, and several decisions that left me wondering whether adulthood came with an instruction manual that everybody else had received except me. And now, before I have even finished making sense of it all, July 7 has returned with another candle for the cake. How inconsiderate of the calendar.

Today, I am twenty-four.

I have written that sentence several times, and it still looks a little strange. Twenty-four sounds considerably more serious than twenty-three, although I cannot identify any dramatic transformation that occurred between yesterday evening and this morning. My personality remains wonderfully imperfect, my ambitions are still occupying several different corners of my mind, and I continue possessing the remarkable ability to overthink situations that would probably become much simpler if I occasionally allowed them to remain uncomplicated. Nevertheless, the number has changed, and I suppose I must accept it with whatever dignity I can manage.

I should probably mention that being born on the seventh day of the seventh month has always given me an unnecessary sense of occasion. July 7 sounds rather impressive when written as 07/07, almost as though my birthday were designed by somebody who appreciated numerical symmetry. I cannot claim any responsibility for this arrangement, of course, but I am perfectly willing to accept the aesthetic benefits. If I had been consulted before my birth, I doubt I could have selected a tidier combination. Unfortunately, the universe appears to have invested all its organisational talent in choosing the date and left the actual business of arranging my life entirely to me.

Perhaps that explains a few things.

Every year, the seventh of July brings messages from family, friends, and people who remember the occasion with a kindness I never want to take for granted. There are greetings wishing me happiness, good health, success, and the fulfilment of whatever dreams I happen to be pursuing. I enjoy reading them, partly because birthdays provide a wonderful excuse to feel appreciated and partly because I am reminded of the people who have become part of my life through different circumstances. Some have known me since childhood, while others entered my story through school, nursing, work, and the ordinary encounters that gradually become meaningful relationships.

There is something touching about discovering that somebody has taken a moment from their own day to remember yours. A birthday message may require only a few seconds to send, but it can carry a surprising amount of warmth when it comes from someone whose company or friendship matters to you. I suppose we become accustomed to receiving greetings every year, yet I hope I never reach the point where I regard them as something people are obliged to provide. Nobody owes me an elaborate celebration simply because I have successfully completed another journey around the sun.

Although, admittedly, cake would be appreciated.

As I look at my birthday photographs, I find myself thinking about how much can happen between two photographs taken a year apart. At first glance, the differences may seem ordinary. We look a little older, perhaps change our hairstyle, smile at the camera, and continue pretending that we have mastered the complicated business of posing naturally. But photographs rarely reveal everything that has happened between the moments they preserve. They cannot show every difficult decision, unexpected opportunity, private concern, or lesson learned during the months separating one celebration from another.

My twenty-third year has certainly been full of them.

When I turned twenty-three last July, I was beginning an important stage of my nursing career. After spending approximately a year and a half away from regular hospital practice, I had returned to clinical work, eager to develop my skills and become more confident in the profession I had chosen. I remember the excitement of wearing my white uniform again, meeting colleagues, learning from different departments, and feeling that my ambitions were gradually becoming part of everyday life rather than remaining confined to plans I discussed with myself.

I had been looking forward to that opportunity for so long. Passing the Nursing Licensure Examination was an important achievement, but possessing a professional licence and building a career are two different accomplishments. I was beginning to discover that the transition from being qualified to becoming experienced would require patience, continuous learning, and a willingness to accept that there were still countless things I did not know.

Adventist Hospital Cebu became an important part of that experience.

I learned about the demands of regular hospital duty, the responsibility involved in caring for patients, and the challenges of applying clinical knowledge within a busy working environment. There were rewarding days when I felt genuinely satisfied with the care I had provided, and others when exhaustion seemed determined to accompany me all the way home. I experienced different shifts, learned to manage competing responsibilities, and gained a new appreciation for the nurses who somehow maintain their composure while several things are happening at once.

I also developed a rather complicated relationship with sleep.

There were occasions when my bed and I seemed to exist in entirely different time zones, despite occupying the same country. I would arrive home exhausted, enjoy whatever rest my schedule permitted, and return to the hospital with the familiar awareness that another collection of responsibilities was waiting. Some shifts were particularly demanding, especially when staffing difficulties increased the pressure upon the team. I remember wondering whether my feet would eventually begin charging me rent for the hours I required them to remain standing.

But alongside the tiredness came experience.

I learned that nursing demands more than good intentions. Compassion is important, but it must be accompanied by sound judgement, clinical knowledge, careful communication, and the ability to recognise when assistance is needed. I discovered that being organised is useful, although the hospital has a remarkable talent for introducing situations that require us to reconsider our carefully prepared plans. I also began understanding that professional responsibility includes recognising our limitations rather than treating exhaustion as evidence of dedication.

Those lessons have not always been comfortable, but I am grateful for them.

There is a difference between imagining yourself as a nurse and experiencing the ordinary realities of being one. When I was younger, I associated the profession with the satisfaction of helping people, the dignity of wearing a white uniform, and the fulfilment of finally using what I had studied. Those things remain meaningful, but my first year of practice has introduced a much more complicated picture. Nursing involves paperwork, difficult decisions, challenging personalities, tiring shifts, and moments when our own emotions must be managed carefully because someone else requires our attention.

It also involves small experiences of satisfaction that are difficult to describe to somebody who has never worked in healthcare.

There are moments when a patient expresses appreciation, when a responsibility is completed safely, or when a difficult shift ends and I realise that I have learned something useful. Those moments may appear ordinary to an outside observer, but they remind me why I wanted to enter the profession. They make the practical frustrations easier to understand, even when they do not remove them.

Yet my twenty-third year was not simply a story about nursing.

There were disappointments, uncertainties, and occasions when life developed in directions I had not expected. Some things I hoped would happen did not work out as I imagined, while other opportunities appeared without much warning. I have spent a considerable amount of time reconsidering plans, asking questions about my future, and wondering whether I am making decisions that will eventually lead towards the life I want to build.

There have been days when I felt confident about my direction and others when I wondered whether I had misunderstood the entire concept of planning.

I suppose that is part of being twenty-something.

We are old enough to possess responsibilities but still young enough to discover that many of our assumptions about adulthood were terribly optimistic. We imagine that growing older will gradually make everything clearer, that one achievement will naturally lead to another, and that by a certain age we will have established careers, sensible finances, and an impressive understanding of our own personalities.

Instead, we find ourselves making decisions with incomplete information, changing our minds, and discovering that the people who appear to have everything organised may simply be better at keeping their confusion private.

I certainly have not mastered everything.

Recently, I submitted my resignation from Adventist Hospital Cebu and applied for another job that interests me. It was a significant decision because the hospital had provided valuable experience during an important stage of my professional development. Leaving an environment where I had learned so much naturally brought mixed feelings, especially because I was still uncertain about the outcome of my next application.

I have never particularly enjoyed waiting for important news.

Waiting gives the imagination far too much freedom. It begins examining possible outcomes, constructing elaborate scenarios, and asking questions that nobody can answer until the proper time arrives. I have tried distracting myself with ordinary activities, but there are occasions when my thoughts return to the same concerns regardless of what I happen to be doing.

Still, I wanted to pursue an opportunity that felt meaningful to me.

Perhaps that is one of the biggest changes I have noticed in myself during the past year. I am becoming more willing to recognise when a particular stage of life has taught me what it can and when I need to consider another direction. That does not mean I make decisions easily or that I am suddenly immune to uncertainty. Quite the opposite. Sometimes I spend so much time examining a decision that I become exhausted before I have even acted upon it.

But I am learning that remaining in a familiar situation merely because I am afraid of change may not always be the wisest choice.

I do not yet know where my next professional opportunity will take me, but I hope it will allow me to continue developing my nursing skills and building a career I can be proud of.

During the period after submitting my resignation, I was grateful to receive an invitation to volunteer for the Operation Smile medical mission at Adventist Hospital Cebu. I had been praying for something worthwhile to occupy my time while waiting for news about my job application, and the opportunity appeared when my schedule was unusually free. I joined the team involved in preparing patients before surgery and gained further experience in the practical responsibilities of a charitable medical programme.

It was a memorable experience, partly because of the meaningful work and partly because of the unexpected collection of amusing incidents that accompanied it.

There were approximately forty patients a day, enough documentation to make my fingers consider legal action, and colleagues who helped make the demanding hours more manageable. Coffee became an appreciated companion, and one particularly entertaining conversation with a visiting nurse from Las Vegas eventually resulted in an unexpected McDonald’s treat for our group.

I still laugh when I remember that incident.

It is wonderful how an opportunity that begins with serious professional intentions can also provide memories involving a jacket, a language misunderstanding, and the discovery that honesty about being hungry can occasionally produce excellent results.

Perhaps that is one of the things I appreciate most about the past year. Not everything meaningful has arrived through carefully constructed plans. Some experiences developed because I accepted an invitation, approached an unfamiliar opportunity, or simply happened to be available when something interesting presented itself.

I had been worried about what I would do while waiting for employment news, and then I found myself participating in a medical mission that allowed me to contribute and learn.

Life has a peculiar sense of timing.

But I would be pretending if I suggested that the past year had been filled entirely with professional achievements and pleasant surprises.

Our family has also faced difficult circumstances, particularly following my aunt’s diagnosis of stage III colon cancer. Hearing the news was frightening, and I have spent many days trying to understand what it might mean for her and for our family. There have been questions about treatment, concerns about the future, and moments when I wished somebody could simply provide a reassuring explanation that would make everything feel manageable.

Being a nurse has not made those emotions disappear.

I may understand medical terminology and the importance of appropriate clinical care, but I am still a niece who worries about somebody she loves. That experience has reminded me how different a diagnosis can feel when it enters your own family. Professional knowledge may help us ask useful questions, yet it does not eliminate the personal uncertainty accompanying serious illness.

I have prayed often during these months, asking God to guide our family and give us the wisdom to support my aunt appropriately. I continue hoping for encouraging developments, while recognising that we must respond to her medical circumstances with reliable information and appropriate care.

There are questions I still cannot answer.

Perhaps turning twenty-four does not mean I am suddenly expected to answer them.

Last May, I spent an unplanned weekend in my hometown of Toledo. After attending to some personal matters, I joined my cousins for a visit to the Divine Mercy Shrine and a nearby lake. We prayed, enjoyed the natural surroundings, and spent time together away from the concerns that had been occupying our thoughts.

I remember appreciating the simplicity of that afternoon.

We did not need an elaborate activity or a carefully arranged celebration. We simply visited the shrine, looked at the scenery, took photographs, and laughed when my cousins decided to turn an umbrella into an improvised photography accessory. It was precisely the kind of ridiculous family moment that becomes memorable because nobody had intended to create anything remarkable.

That afternoon reminded me that difficult circumstances do not necessarily remove every opportunity to enjoy life.

We could still laugh together, appreciate the beauty around us, and make memories while acknowledging that our family had unresolved concerns. I had been spending so much time thinking about the future that I was beginning to overlook the ordinary things happening in front of me.

Perhaps that is another lesson I want to carry into my twenty-fourth year.

I want to become better at recognising the value of ordinary days.

I have a habit of measuring time through achievements and important events. I remember when I passed examinations, began hospital training, started employment, or made a significant decision about my career. Those occasions matter, but the spaces between them contain experiences that are equally important in less obvious ways.

There are meals shared with friends, conversations with family, little journeys, quiet afternoons, and amusing moments that rarely appear on a list of professional accomplishments. Yet when I think about what has made the past year meaningful, many of those ordinary experiences return to my mind before the formal achievements do.

I suppose a life cannot be understood entirely through certificates and job titles.

It also exists in the relationships we develop, the decisions we reconsider, and the things we learn about ourselves when circumstances do not follow our expectations.

I have been thinking about what it means to become wiser.

Twenty-four certainly sounds like an age at which I ought to have acquired a little wisdom, although I suspect my friends would appreciate the opportunity to examine that claim before accepting it. I still make mistakes, occasionally become overly dramatic about ordinary frustrations, and sometimes spend an unreasonable amount of time worrying about situations I cannot control.

But I think I have changed in ways that are less obvious than the number of candles on my birthday cake.

I am beginning to understand that disappointment does not necessarily mean I made a foolish decision. Sometimes an opportunity does not develop as expected, even when we have prepared carefully and acted with good intentions. There may be circumstances beyond our control, and a result that feels discouraging today may eventually lead us to consider possibilities we had not previously imagined.

I am also learning that independence does not require me to manage everything without assistance. There are times when advice is useful, when prayer gives me comfort, and when conversations with family or friends help me understand something more clearly.

I would like to become the kind of woman who can pursue her ambitions without becoming so attached to a particular plan that every unexpected change feels like a personal disaster.

That may take some practice.

I have never been particularly enthusiastic about uncertainty, and I doubt that turning twenty-four has suddenly transformed me into someone who welcomes every complication with a delighted smile.

But perhaps I can learn to respond with a little more patience.

I also want to reconsider what success means to me.

When we are young, it is easy to imagine that success involves reaching important milestones according to a schedule we have already created. We think about employment, financial independence, further education, and the kind of life we hope to build. We compare our progress with what we expected of ourselves, and occasionally with what appears to be happening in the lives of other people.

But the past year has reminded me that everybody’s circumstances are different.

Some people reach their goals quickly, while others encounter delays, changes, or responsibilities that require them to take another direction. An achievement that seems impressive from the outside may have involved considerable uncertainty behind the scenes. And a person who appears to be progressing slowly may be making important decisions that are not immediately visible to anyone else.

I want to remember that before becoming unnecessarily critical of myself.

Perhaps twenty-four can be the year when I become more interested in making thoughtful progress than in maintaining an imaginary competition with people whose lives I do not fully understand.

I would also like to retain my sense of humour.

That seems important.

Life has already demonstrated that it can become complicated without consulting me, and I suspect the coming year will introduce further surprises. If I cannot prevent every inconvenient circumstance, I might as well preserve the ability to laugh at the ones that are genuinely amusing.

After all, being serious about my ambitions does not mean I must behave like a permanently exhausted philosopher.

I can work hard, make careful decisions, and continue developing my professional knowledge while appreciating a ridiculous conversation or an unexpected family adventure.

And I can be grateful for another birthday without pretending that everything in my life has been perfectly arranged.

That is something I find reassuring today.

I have also been thinking about the people who continue remembering July 7.

Every greeting reminds me that my life is connected to others in ways that cannot be measured entirely by how frequently we meet. There are childhood friends who have known earlier versions of me, colleagues who have shared demanding hospital shifts, relatives who have witnessed my ambitions develop, and people whose kindness has made particular moments worth remembering.

I appreciate them all.

Some have encouraged me when I doubted myself, others have offered advice when I was uncertain, and a few have provided enough entertainment to make ordinary days unexpectedly memorable. I have learned something from different relationships, including the importance of listening, understanding other people’s perspectives, and accepting that friendship does not require everyone to possess identical personalities.

Perhaps that is one of the lovely things about growing older.

We accumulate more experiences, but we also gather people whose influence becomes part of how we understand ourselves.

Not everyone remains in our everyday lives forever, of course. Circumstances change, responsibilities increase, and friendships sometimes become less frequent as people move towards different opportunities. But I hope I remain grateful for the companionship I have experienced, even when particular chapters eventually change.

I do not want my birthday to become an occasion for counting everything that has not happened yet.

There are still dreams I want to pursue, places I hope to visit, and professional opportunities I would like to explore. I have ambitions that remain unfinished and questions about my future that have not yet received satisfactory answers.

But I also have twenty-four years of experiences that deserve appreciation.

I have a family whose importance becomes clearer to me through both ordinary days and difficult circumstances. I have friends who contribute laughter and companionship. I have earned my professional qualification and begun gaining experience in nursing, a field I chose because I wanted to care for people and develop useful skills.

I have made decisions that required courage, even when I was uncertain about their outcomes.

And I have survived a few disappointments that once seemed considerably larger than they appear when viewed from a little distance.

I think that deserves at least a slice of birthday cake.

As I consider the year ahead, I find myself curious about what it may bring. I hope to receive encouraging news about my job application, continue developing professionally, and discover opportunities that challenge me in useful ways. I hope my family experiences better circumstances, particularly regarding my aunt’s health, and that we continue finding reasons to spend meaningful time together.

I also hope for ordinary happiness.

I want afternoons that involve laughter without complicated explanations, meals enjoyed without rushing, and enough rest to remember what it feels like to wake up without immediately negotiating with an alarm clock.

I would like to continue writing, taking photographs, and preserving the little stories that make each stage of life distinctive.

Perhaps there will be new friendships, unexpected journeys, and experiences I cannot presently imagine.

I certainly hope there will be more opportunities to laugh at myself, although I would appreciate it if the universe avoided providing quite so much material through professional exhaustion.

Most of all, I hope to become more thoughtful about the way I spend my days.

Turning twenty-four has made me consider whether I am directing my time towards things that genuinely matter to me. It is a difficult question because the answer cannot be reduced to one achievement or decision. I want to develop my career, but I also want to remain present for the people I love. I want to pursue opportunities, but I do not want every ordinary day to feel like an obstacle delaying some future accomplishment.

I want to become a better nurse without forgetting that I am also a daughter, a relative, a friend, and an individual with interests beyond hospital responsibilities.

Perhaps finding a sensible balance among those things will be one of my continuing challenges.

I do not expect to master it immediately.

If twenty-three taught me anything, it is that life has very little interest in following my carefully prepared timetable.

But I am beginning to suspect that some of the experiences I value most would never have occurred if everything had unfolded exactly as I imagined.

Perhaps that is worth remembering whenever I become impatient with the future.

I am also grateful to God for allowing me to reach another birthday. My faith has accompanied me through both encouraging moments and circumstances that have been difficult to understand. There have been occasions when I prayed with gratitude and others when my prayers consisted almost entirely of questions.

I do not know what the coming year will bring, but I hope I continue recognising the importance of faith, patience, and responsible action as I make decisions.

I want to be thankful without assuming that gratitude requires me to ignore disappointments. I want to trust God without pretending that I understand every circumstance. And I want to remember that seeking professional guidance, asking for help, and reconsidering my plans are all reasonable parts of navigating an uncertain future.

Perhaps maturity involves becoming more comfortable admitting what we do not know.

At twenty-four, I seem to have discovered an impressive collection of things I still need to learn.

I suppose that should keep me occupied for quite some time.

As I write this birthday entry, I cannot help smiling at the difference between the person I imagined I would become and the person currently sitting here trying to explain how twenty-four feels.

The younger version of me probably expected adulthood to involve far more certainty. She might have imagined that by this age I would possess a perfectly organised career plan, considerable confidence, and an impressive ability to make decisions without questioning myself repeatedly.

She would probably be surprised to discover that I still struggle with patience, occasionally worry too much, and continue finding ordinary life rather complicated.

But I hope she would also be pleased.

I became a nurse.

I returned to hospital practice after a period away, learned from demanding responsibilities, and discovered that I genuinely enjoy caring for patients despite the frustrations that accompany the work.

I met people who contributed to my understanding of friendship and teamwork.

I participated in volunteer activities, including efforts to support people affected by Typhoon Yolanda and the recent Operation Smile mission.

I made decisions about my professional future, even when doing so meant accepting uncertainty.

And somewhere among the disappointments, I continued finding reasons to laugh, pray, and appreciate the people around me.

Perhaps that is a perfectly respectable amount of living for one year.

The number twenty-four still looks unfamiliar, but I imagine I will become accustomed to it soon enough. It will appear on forms, become my answer whenever somebody asks my age, and gradually lose the novelty that makes it feel so significant today.

Then, before I know it, July 7 will return.

I shall be twenty-five, presumably with another collection of stories, questions, and slightly embarrassing photographs.

I hope that when the next birthday arrives, I will have learned something worth remembering.

Perhaps I will have progressed in my career or gained experience in a new professional environment. Perhaps I will have made decisions that currently seem difficult. Perhaps I will have encountered opportunities that I cannot possibly predict today.

Or perhaps I will simply be a little better at recognising that life does not need to be perfectly organised to be meaningful.

I would consider that a worthwhile achievement.

For now, however, I intend to enjoy being twenty-four.

I have spent enough time analysing the past year, reconsidering my decisions, and wondering about the future. Today deserves a little celebration, particularly because birthdays have a habit of becoming less exciting when we allow them to turn into annual examinations of everything we have not yet accomplished.

I am grateful for the messages, the kindness, the memories, and the opportunity to begin another year.

I am grateful for the lessons I did not necessarily enjoy learning and the moments that reminded me how much ordinary happiness matters.

And I am grateful that despite all the unexpected turns of my twenty-third year, I am still curious about what comes next.

That curiosity is something I hope to preserve.

When I was younger, July 7 meant excitement about presents, birthday greetings, and the delightful knowledge that the day belonged to me in some small way. Now, as I turn twenty-four, it has become an opportunity to consider how I am changing and what I want to carry forward.

Perhaps next year I will write an entirely different birthday reflection.

I may laugh at the concerns that seem so important today, or discover that some of them require more patience than I expected. I may look at these photographs and wonder why twenty-four once seemed such an extraordinary number.

But I hope I remember that the young woman celebrating today was doing her best to understand life with the experiences available to her.

She did not have every answer.

She had a few unfinished dreams, some professional uncertainty, a family she loved, and a rather complicated relationship with the future.

But she also had another birthday, a collection of people kind enough to remember it, and the chance to continue becoming the person she hoped to be.

I began this entry complaining that the calendar had turned another page before I felt properly prepared. On reflection, perhaps that is how birthdays are supposed to work. They arrive regardless of whether our plans are complete, reminding us that life continues while we are occupied with trying to arrange it.

The seventh of July has returned, and I have apparently been promoted to twenty-four without submitting an application.

I suppose I should accept the appointment.

After all, I have already spent twenty-three years preparing for it.

Happy twenty-fourth birthday to me. May the coming year contain enough wisdom to guide my decisions, enough humour to survive my mistakes, and enough unexpected goodness to make the next July 7 worth celebrating.

July 7, 2014 — for the year that challenged my plans, the people who made it memorable, and the twenty-four-year-old woman still figuring out what she wants to become.

— Just Anj, RN | Officially twenty-four, still mentally negotiating with twenty-three.