Okay, so maybe the start of my 29th year doesn't sound terribly great on paper, but I assure you I had a perfectly lovely day.
For one thing, I'm rather glad to have missed out on being a member of the 27 club. Whew! My brother did subtly point out to me yesterday that I perhaps have not lived my life in notorious enough of a manner to rank up there with Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse even if I had met an untimely demise last year. You know what? I'm okay with that.
Honestly, I'm kind of excited about 28. I've always had a fondness for the number 8. My hockey jersey numbers were 8 and 18 and I remember both of those ages fondly. At eight I totally rocked the second and third grades (advanced reading group, holler) and met the love of my life (#
I've been hearing via the blogosphere that our 20s end up being our time for searching, stretching, and well, more often than we'd like to admit, struggling. Now our 30s on the other hand (or so I'm told) is when we really get to settle in and thrive. So although I have a few years (okay, two) to go before hitting the big 3-0, I do feel that I'm getting closer to a point in my life where I can settle down a little bit and enjoy the fruits of my labor. At least I hope so, because I rather loudly proclaimed to a colleague yesterday morning, "I'm tired of making hay!" in response to the infamous "make hay while the sun shines" quip.
I think we all get a bit weary of making hay every now and then. Last week my motivation tanked and decided to throw myself a little pity party over the fact that I live in the forest far, far away from the rest of my friends. (I may spend a little too much time alone in the winter.) But this week is not only a new week, but a new year for me, so I'm planning to head forth with a better attitude and a deeper acknowledgement of the beauty around me.
|The amaryllis we received last Christmas is blooming again|
At 9 p.m. last night, when I was telling myself, you have to work, you don't get to paint your toenails, I thought what the heck, it is my birthday. Just paint your toenails already. Maybe 28 will see me letting go of my delusion that I can and will work 14 hour days and then being consistently disappointed in myself for failing my lofty and unattainable performance goals? We can hope.
|I'm sure this color (cranberry cream) was very trendy when I bought it in 2001|