Last Friday, I rang in my 30th year from the viridescent isle of Corsica. I feel grateful above all else, but slightly annoyed that all of the -isms that my elders told me I would one day feel have started to manifest in my mouth. I find myself unironically saying things like, “it’s not the destination, it’s the journey,” and “time heals all wounds.” My youth is crumbling in real-time, like the fortune cookie that I have apparently become.
All jokes aside, I feel wonderful and ready to take on the rest of my life. Here are thirty things that I hold to be true at the time of writing, inspired by small events that happened (or in a few cases, didn’t happen) to me this year.
It took me two years to complete a story (and I can’t stop reading it) or art created for art’s sake will always feel better to make. I wish I had internalized this earlier; who knows what poem, or book, or essay I would have written. What was 22-year old me afraid to put down on paper? What did 18-year old leave to rot in my Tumblr drafts because it was “too” something or other? It would be untrue to say that I don’t appreciate eyes on my work — I certainly do — but now I truly believe that the right eyes land upon me, and linger, relate, savor my work (and I, theirs).
Nobody pinched my back rolls at the beach, or you’re your own worst critic. I now know that people really, really don’t care about me as much as I once thought they did. You’re simply not that important, and WOW, what a beautiful thing.
I booked a flight without knowing anything about that city or, never pass up the opportunity to visit a new place. Never, ever, ever. Go everywhere at least once (and then never go back if it sucked).
An ex asked me to provide closure and I refused, or you are the villain in someone’s story. This was a hard one to come to terms with, but I am not always kind, or thoughtful, or considerate. I have been selfish, rude, hurt people’s feelings. I have been the source of many a road rage rant, I’m sure. I am responsible for sleepless nights and hurt feelings and trust issues. I am always chasing that better version of myself, but she’s quick and ashamed of herself.
I graduated from high school 12 years ago, or the time will pass no matter what. 12 years?! I don’t even know what else to say here. It doesn’t feel real.
We’re not allowed to go to bed with an open conflict, or a good partner will change your life. Potentially controversial, but I have decided to furiously refute that you have to be whole and complete and perfect before seeking partnership. I genuinely believe that Gem has helped, is helping me, become the best version of myself. Not just the best wife, or the best version of the person that they want me to be. A version of myself that I am proud of. Watching them navigate the world, problem-solve, care for their family, etcetera, has helped me identify traits that I’d like to improve, or develop, or sometimes, abandon. They also aren’t afraid to call me out on my shit (and there’s a lot of it). There are some things that can’t be learned alone, and intimacy with a person that you trust can be a magnifying glass for issues that you didn’t know existed within. If Gem left me tomorrow, I would leave this relationship better than I entered it.
Rafah is being invaded, or it’s your responsibility to remain informed. For 3 years, I made the intentional decision to avoid any sort of news. Local, national, international. The news was never positive, and so I refused to engage with it. This last year has driven home the fact that I don’t get to do that anymore. None of us do.
My blender is incapable of crushing ice, or trial and error is often more expensive than the expensive thing. We should’ve waited to get a Vitamix when we moved into our house last year, but we were impatient and smoothie-craving and now our kitchen counter is home to one of Portland’s largest paperweights. Sometimes when I’m feeling cheap, I’ll buy store brand ketchup and get home, use it and go buy Heinz the next day. The bottom shelf of my fridge door serves as a graveyard of cheap condiments. If I add them all up, I could have bought at least 6 bottles of Heinz.
My bras take four to five hours to air-dry, or things last longer if you care for them. Hand-wash this, air-dry that, blah blah blah. I used to be okay with throwing my bras in the dryer, and then wondered why they’d fall apart after a couple of months. I used to water my plants twice a month, and then wondered why they never sprouted new blooms. Don’t get me wrong, I have to actively fight my impulse to be lazy in most areas of my life, especially laundry and plant care. But so far this year, my monsterras are large and my bras are tight, so I think I’m getting the hang of it.
My father threw a temper tantrum outside of an art gallery, or your parents are just people. *sigh* And sometimes they are people that you’d avoid like death if they hadn’t birthed you. But they did, so that complicates things, doesn’t it?
Rosie sends me TikToks between waxing appointments, or routine is not a bad word. Rosie is my waxer and we get along swimmingly. The last time I had a consistent waxer was in 2017 — the year that I first moved abroad and, unwillingly or not, gave up any semblance of routine. Routine was an anchor, a thing that kept me somewhere I didn’t want to be. I don’t feel that way anymore.
Fresh flowers account for 10% of my grocery budget, or it’s not a waste of money if it brings you joy. Full stop.
Four days worth of drinking led to 3 weeks worth of breakouts or alcohol is not worth it. I’ve already written about this, so I won’t drone on about it, but he difference in the way that I feel (and look) after giving up liquor is fantastic.
Why is there a business card from a NY deli in my wallet? or tangible memories are incredibly important. It’s not just a deli business card. There’s a French movie ticket, a parking stub, a gum wrapper and a dried flower. Stashing little keepsakes around the house and in my bags and pockets fill even the most mundane of my days with pleasant surprises.
Stella and I watched Luca 3 times in one day, or there will always be children to care for. I stand ten toes down in my decision not to have kids, but that doesn’t mean that I will lead a childfree life. I am an aunt to 4 munchkins, and while I never had an aunt of my own, I now realize that this role can be as important as I decide to make it. (I’m taking it very seriously.)
Why did I get a pair of dice tattooed on my arm? or you will probably regret your tattoos, but that’s ok. This one was hard to write down because it feels like saying that my father was right. The regret is not all-consuming and all of my tattoos are attached to fond memories, but I do wish that I had been more thoughtful about what I inked onto my body.
I didn’t know that he voted for Trump!, or it’s not difficult to find common ground with most humans. Y’all may give me flack for this one. I may deserve it. But I truly, truly believe that all humans can relate to each other on a basic level. Earlier this year in Holbox, I had a thrilling conversation with a random man from Missouri. We talked about horror films, mostly, but also about our favorite cheeses and our preferred brand of socks. It wasn’t until he got up to pay his bill that I noticed his shirt: Make America Great Again. My body immediately seized up and I got up to leave before he he came back to his table. I wish I hadn’t. Who knows where our conversation would’ve ended up?
My 11-year old neighbor beat me in a snowball fight this winter or being childish is so much fun. It was my first snowball fight! I never want to stop having firsts, especially childlike firsts. First cartwheel? Maybe this year.
The dark spots started to fade when I began wearing sunscreen, or the lotions and potions are annoying, but necessary. Incredibly annoying! It sometimes feels like my bathroom drawers will split from the weight of the products that won’t stop appearing.
Mellifluous is my new favorite word, or you are a better writer when you read. I brought books back into my life in a real way last year, and it’s part of the reason why I’ve been able to stick to my writing this year. When I rot on the sofa in front of the TV, I often think to myself, how on earth was someone able to build this world with words? And then I read and remember how it’s done. And then I write, because I like building worlds, too.
I recite the serenity prayer multiple times per week, or it’s okay to take what you need and leave what you don’t. This can apply to a myriad of things, but in this instance, I’m referring to religion. I’ve been staunchly anti-organized religion for as long as I’ve had memory, but the more time that passes, the more I seek some sort of spiritual guidance. Maybe I’ll find a God by 40. For now, I’ll borrow the pieces that work for me.
Olives are my new favorite snack, or it’s okay to change your mind. You should change your mind — about food, about people, about jobs and goals and favorite colors. Change means that you’re alive, and how wonderful.
Our neighbors put our garbage bins on the curb while we were out of town, or ask for help when you need it. This is still very hard for me to do. Community is a concept that I’ve never had a real grip on, but since moving to Portland, I’ve been putting in effort to be present in the lives of my neighbors. This looks like brining soup when people are sick, remembering the grocery store clerk’s name, dog-sitting for date night.
That arugula has been in the fridge for six days, or grocery shopping the same day just makes sense. This would be a pain in the ass for most people, and it is for me, too, sometimes. In being intentional about what I put into my body, I’ve started to buy only what I need for the day’s meal(s) when I go grocery shopping. There are exceptions, of course — I can’t buy a single cup of oat milk or 8 strawberries —but for the most part, I really enjoy this method. It’s cut back on my food waste in a big way (still not enough) and it brings excitement back to mealtimes.
I walked an average of 5 miles per day last month, or movement is necessary. For all of my 20s, I tried to find the form of movement that felt “fun” for me. Yoga, hula hooping, jump rope, Crossfit — you name it, I’ve wasted money on it. Nothing stuck. Now, at 30, I no longer have the luxury of choice; I must move my body, and I must move it every day.
I fired my therapist, or bad moods are normal. My former therapist tried really hard to convince me that happiness was the only emotion that mattered. She invalidated my other feelings; not in a flippant way, but in a very kumbaya-what-is-there-to-be-sad-about way. Bad (and sad and angry) moods are normal and provide perspective and depth and oppoortunities for reflection.
My ZZ plant sprouted a new baby when I moved it out of the window, or you cannot thrive in the wrong environment. How original, to compare life to a plant. And yet, here we are.
All of the photos that I take while traveling look the same, or you like what you like. I love the mountains. I have 600 of what appear to be the same exact picture in my camera roll — giant, green hunks of earth dotted with red roofs. They make me happy, so I’ll continue to take them.
The Verizon bill that I defaulted on in 2017 was added to my credit report this year or the thing you’re avoiding will probably come back to haunt you. The rug is only so big, and so there are is only so much that can be swept underneath it.
A gray pubic hair sprouted from my inner thigh, or life is so incredibly short. Perhaps TMI, but see item 2.
I’m not where I thought I’d be at 30. If I really think about it, I’m somewhere better. To more sunscreen, more San Pellegrino, more snowball fights, and, most importantly, more olives.
Happy belated! Some of your lessons resonated with me. Some I learned well before 30 and was happy to, and some I'm learning and relearning two years after that number. Sending you all the good vibes for this next decade of life!