These are my last days of being 30, then its on to a new year. I’m ready.
In October 2009, I was 29 years old. I had a premonition while flying on a motorcycle through New Delhi: this was the end of my fun for quite some time. I can’t say that I was entirely wrong. I came home, struggled in a poorly-defined job, tackled home renovation and wedding planning with fiancee, and after getting drunk in a Tiki Bar, turned 30. Age 30 brought a layoff for my now-husband, and four days after his final turn in the office, I got news on a sunny June morning: my mom has cancer.
This year has been defined by uncertainty: when will my husband find a job? Will we have to move? Will we have enough money to survive on one income? Will the wedding come together as we hope? Will my mom be cured? I can say that most of these questions have been answered, and for that I am grateful.
This year has been good to us in some very important ways. Our family expanded by 6 chickens. We had a great wedding. Today, both Jack and I are working challenging, interesting jobs that we love. Age 30 has not given me the type of globetrotting adventures that I often crave, and we have struggled with some significant obstacles, but it has also given me a type of atmospheric happiness that is difficult to pinpoint, but permeates every waking moment.
Compared to last year, I know myself better, and have deeper gratitude for the life I lead. And that is the best birthday present of all.