a few weeks ago

 

I turned 30. There was some nervous anticipation in the hours leading up to midnight of the 20th. It felt significant, and I had a pressing sense that I needed to do something. One last hurrah, one final memory from which I could say, “oh, I totally did that in my twenties.” But alas, nothing. I laid in bed with all my nervous energy, until I nodded off and woke the next morning to… the anticlimactic feeling of 30. It was just another birthday, and either I was in some kind of subconscious denial, or I’d already dealt enough with my aging anxieties. :)

Thirty always seemed old. When I was young, the adults were 30. The people who were looking after me, working jobs, being mature, doing other adult things. And it seemed in the very distant future… I whispered the words aloud a few days after my birthday, to an empty room – “I’m thirty,” and the words felt so foreign. I feel young (does everyone probably say that?) – hopeful of all that may still lie ahead of me. And thankful for the work I accomplished in my 20’s that has gotten me to this point. I wrestled a lot to get my feet under me the last decade, and feel better able to embrace some comfortability in my own skin. That, my friends, is a great feeling.

In celebration, and meant to be repeated every decade, Allison and I (and Lucille) spent a long weekend on Catalina Island. We boarded the ferry in Long Beach and one hour later pulled into one of the most beautiful ports I’ve ever laid eyes on. I felt as though we’d somehow landed ourselves in Europe – a mini Amalfi Coast perhaps. Incredibly, we got away with barely paying anything due to the generosity of Islander friends (they even babysat Lucille!). It was a weekend I’ll always remember – for its beauty of course, but also because we spent the days exploring, kayaking, journaling, golf carting, eating… it was wonderful. :)

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