This year I had my birthday in Ecuador.

I have spent the last nearly two months travelling through South America with 16kg on my back, bouts of homesickness, and an increasing sense of gratitude.

If time is the most precious commodity, why do we feel sad each year we are given more of it? We always get told it’s á year closer to death’, like we’re losing something with each birthday. But we’re not. It’s about gaining one more year of life.

It’s a truth that getting old is a luxury denied to many. So while New Years might be about looking forward, for me I think I’m going to make birthdays a celebration of the years gone, and how lucky I was to have had them. So this year I celebrate 28 years of everything. Of having a body that works. Of having eyes (though they look like peeholes in the snow) that I can see babies, and puppies, and nature, and the faces of my friends and family through. Of having ears (even though one sticks out way more than the other) that hear music, and storms outside when i’m cosy, and the thoughts and knowledge of other people in the world…and the words ‘ I love you.’ Of having a mouth that can talk and create relationships with people, and say what I think and create my own identity. And that can eat burgers, obviously. Of having a nose that can smell butter and garlic cooking, babies heads, and the nape of my love’s neck.

Of having a family I am obsessed with. Of having friends who I don’t feel worthy of. Of being in love.

Of cheese, and negronis, and good books, and fresh sheets, and sashimi, and pizza, and words, and fries with aioli, and ideas, and travel.

Of making mistakes, and learning, and making mistakes again. Of the word ricochet. Of nights being the perfect amount of drunk, and the dumplings the next day. Of post-exercise endorphins. Of live music. Of dappled sunlight on water. Of art. Of fresh flowers. Of jumping off cliffs into rivers. Of feeling safe. Of trees.

Of a beer after a day of skiing. Of fresh air. Of good duvets and good movies and good red wine. Of doing things i’m scared of. Of crisp white shirts. Of opportunity.

Of boozy dancing, sun on skin, and nice sunglasses. Of 6pm on a Friday. Of seeing people I love smile.

Of freedom. Of crayfish. Of singing in my car. Of slightly underdone brownie. Of the smell of washing that dried in the sun. Of prosecco and warm bread with butter. Of choice. Of writing. Of dad as my emergency contact. Of mum as my best friend. Of cuddling both of them. Of Christmas. Of laughing.

Of 28 years of life.