Becoming a Notary Public

Today is my birthday, and I’m trying to let that mean what it actually means: a day I’m allowed to enjoy, and a day I’m allowed to invest in myself. I’ve always treated my birthday as a kind of personal development marker—less “buy a thing” and more “build a door.” This year’s door looks like something practical and a little unexpected: I’m working toward becoming a North Carolina notary public.

Part of why this feels so right is that it isn’t random. My mom is an attorney, and she used to teach the notary classes at the same college where I’ll be taking mine. There’s something grounding about stepping into a process that lives in my own family history—something both ordinary and meaningful about learning the same framework, in the same place, for my own life. It feels like a quiet way of saying: I’m building skills that can hold me up.

I know it might be a weird first blog post, especially for a site that’s also going to hold artwork, research notes, framing, restoration, and whatever else I end up making room for. But it feels topical and correct for me to share because it’s the truth of where I am: I’m a person who gets restless when I slow down, even when slowing down is the point. I spent the day enjoying myself—good food, good moments, the kind of softness I don’t always allow—and now I can feel my brain trying to bargain for “forward momentum” like it’s a moral requirement.

I’m practicing noticing that pattern without letting it run the whole show.

Last year, for my birthday season, I pushed myself into unfamiliar territory: I started submitting my artwork to more shows. I expected the familiar feeling of rejection to teach me something. Instead, I surprised myself by getting into a few. Not because I suddenly became a different person, but because I proved to myself that I could keep going even while feeling uncertain. That’s what I’m after again—another small expansion, another new capability, another way to make my life more resilient and more mine.

So here’s the plan: take the class, do the steps, become official. Make it real. Learn the rules, the responsibilities, the careful attention that the work requires. I like paths that ask me to be precise. I like processes that turn care into a practice.

And maybe the real birthday gift is this: letting the day be both. Letting myself enjoy what I enjoyed, and still trust that I’m moving forward—even when I’m resting. I’m learning a little more about myself every day, and I’m trying to give myself more grace when I realize I’m overdoing it. If I can keep doing that—if I can keep building without punishing myself for being human—then this is exactly the kind of first post I want to write.

kat