On Birthdays

Oh hello. Its February 15th. In two days I will take a full step into my thirties. The year after to be exact. (and if you were nosy and just wanted to know.)

I loved being thirty. I was ready to wipe the dust off my twenty-something feet and get into the nitty gritty of being an adult. Thirty felt respectable and trustworthy. An age of self-awareness and when other adults finally had to take one seriously. It felt like I would know everything, and in that, fully acknowledge that I don't know much; the truth that pretty much every adult is faking it in some area of life and feels like a floundering tween who just wears expensive "investment" pieces. 

Thirty held a lot. 

Thirty was good.

Thirty took a lot.

Thirty was kind of awful.

But isn't that life? A full cycle of 365 days in a life of a human being? Nights where you feel like your heart may burst from feeling so loved and special to mornings where the sun just won't come up and the only road ahead seems bleak and taxing. 

It was a year full of friends. Full of lonely spans of time. Trips and staying still. Another move for my nomadic book. Listening to a lot of good music, not playing nearly enough. A lot more cooking due to a larger kitchen. A new city. Helping to plan a sister's wedding in South Africa. Friends moving out of state. Friends being as broken-hearted as myself. Crying and anger. Laughter and peace. 

Thirty-one, I expect you to be just as good. Maybe a few less tears, a handful less lonely nights. Maybe more wine and new friends. LOTS of traveling please. Investing in those around me whom I love dearly. Celebrating. The next step in my career. Probably another move. (my family cringes.) More solo movie mornings (I LOVE going to the movie cinema alone! Its my favorite!) lots of walking and good food and beautiful music.