Everybody says that your thirties are better, and I believe them. Seems to me like the fire inside of you burns steadier, that you care less what other people think. There’s more grace to be had from knowing from experience, instead of having to act strong and guess all the time.
It feels like a very significant birthday to me. My whole life I’ve felt this way, that when I was thirty, something profound would shift. It feels as though all of the changes I’ve made recently are meant to prepare me for whatever is next. Never mind that it’s 2012 and the world is coming undone in all the ways I’ve seen in my dreams since I was little. I’m not scared about the future, but I’m very curious. In a week I move back west again, and let me tell you… not a moment too soon.
My zero birthday, April 23, 1982: I was born at home, with midwives, in the house my mother and I still live in. These are iPhone shots taken of actual pictures, inelegantly. (Put them through an instagram filter and the universe would probably unfurl.)
Look. I don’t weep, do you?