I did it. I just bit the bullet, after nearly a year of teetering on the edge of the life of risk and prayer. After living a life uninsured, getting by with crossed fingers and good faith, I'm now an official individual health insurance applicant. Breathe easy, mom.
I'm not happy about the chunk that I'll see leave my bank account each month.
I'm not pleased at the thought that, in the prime of my health, I'm not likely to need the back-up plan.
I'm not jumping for joy at my current job's inability to provide a better option for me, nor am I hopeful that I'll have a position any time soon that will shower me with the same cushy plan I used to know.
But, this is the plight a freelancer, (dare I say) an artist, a dreamer. And, I did promise a family friend that I would give myself this birthday gift. I can rest a little easier knowing that (God forbid) a serious or silly little accident will not put me into a lifetime of debt.
So, there it is. I'll be twenty-five years old this Friday, and am taking kicking-screaming steps towards maturity. Happy birthday to me.