Yesterday was my birthday. I’m now 30 years old. Finally. Honestly, didn’t I turn 30, like, 3 years ago? I feel like I should be sad or feel anxious about hitting this milestone, but I don’t. I’m happy with what I’ve done with my life so far. I feel like I’ve used my time well and I have nothing to look back on with regret. And I don’t have any time to muse on the passage of time. All I can do is keep moving forward.
Also, I’m still me. I remember thinking, back in the day, that when I got married, or had a real job, or graduated, or any number of things, I would become someone grown up or responsible or “serious.” But, no. I’m still just me. And while I have matured and evolved and become more confident and more responsible and more thoughtful, I’m still, at heart, the same person. An improved version, I hope, but essentially the same. I’m willing to bet (and I sincerely hope) that the evolution continues in a forward direction – that I’m better in 30 more years than I am now.
As for the day itself, I told Micah weeks ago that I didn’t want to be in charge of Thanksgiving on my birthday. Best case scenario, someone would invite us to their place, but I really didn’t want to just have our little family in our little apartment on my birthday/Thanksgiving. So Micah took charge and invited friends over to join us. He organized the meal and wrangled the kids into cleaning the apartment. And he made a 3-layer chocolate cake with almond butter filling, chocolate buttercream, and ganache. Meanwhile, I slept in, went for a run, and then made my contribution to the feast – stuffing.
He did a fabulous job making it a special day for me – even if he did rib me a little about never having kissed a 30-year-old before. Ha!