30

Thirty…a number that has popped up for me quite a bit in the last three days. I choose to take it as a sign. I am not sure what the sign means, but it must mean something.

Thirty. Recently I was talking with a dear friend whose teenager is not so great at putting up with the bullshit of her peers, an old soul. I told her the story of waking up on my 30th birthday and feeling like I was finally the age I was meant to be. It was like everything all lined up and made sense. I died at a ripe old age the last time I did this life thing. A senior staff house keeper in an English society family, think Mrs Hughes on Downton Abbey. Taking care of people, knowing how to serve and give parties, being in the background getting it all done. I believe we have all lived many lives, and have more to come. If we allow ourselves to remember our past experiences…our current stay will be much easier. Old souls like my friend’s daughter and myself have not been teens for a long time…we prefer the company of adults, we prefer to avoid the drama of teendom, we can not wait to get the hell out of high school. I feel for my friend’s daughter but I do not worry about her. It’s great to have your best years ahead of you…peaking early is overrated.

Thirty. My husband and I have been married for thirty years. That. Is. Crazy. We are both perfect for each other…and exceptionally horrible together…with a whole lot of boring normal survival in-between. The thing that makes us stick with it is knowing that some more perfect might be just around the corner, like a promise of an ice cream cone after a long drive. It is not easy, but it is worth it. Thirty years of adventures, struggles, joy, kids, grief…moments that make life worth living. That is almost 11, 000 days, which seems ridiculous because some days feel like they will never end. Time is funny. My in-laws celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary two days after we got married. They were SO old, I worried if they could make it to a Broadway show on their own…you know, being their 50s.

Thirty. I am selling my Peloton. It is just not for me. I would love to be like those people who wake up eager to be yelled at while sweating to the 80s with Tiffany…so not me. Tiffany, feel free to take your perky attitude and thigh gap and jump in a lake. I would much rather take a walk or dance to the 80s in my studio…alone. Posting things for sale is difficult for me, I am a giver, not a seller…I don’t have tag sales, I have free piles. That is not an option with a ridiculously expensive piece of exercise equipment that has been used 10 times then ignored. After much interest then many we can’t because situations…I found a buyer. She is thrilled and I am thrilled for her, she wants to lose 30 pounds…thirty.

Thanks to a reminder from my countdown to all things good daughter…in thirty days I will see my son. We have not hugged since 5am on March 10, 2020…it will have been 69 weeks…or about 483 days…but who’s counting. That is a long time to not be able to hug my baby. Swoon.

I have no clue what all this Thirty-something stuff means…ha Thirtysomething, I used to love that show about “old” people. Sometimes there is no meaning other than a spark to remember and connect thoughts. That is good enough for me.

Being 30.

Published by Kat

A mom, a wife, a daughter, a friend, a graphic designer. I am flawed... but I try.

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