Cheers to Thirty

I'm turning thirty tomorrow. This is my final Sunday evening in my twenties, and for some reason leaving behind the twenties tends to feel like a big deal. Television shows and movies make it out to be a landmark: turning thirty. And sitting in my kitchen now, considering all of the things that thirty might bring, it does feel like a landmark; I'm leaving behind a decade, and let me tell you: it's been a stunning decade. 

My twenties have taught me so much about growing and changing, about independence, love, how to say goodbye, how to be secure and confident in who I am. I am so grateful for the lessons of my twenties. I became "me" throughout the past decade, and what a lovely, frustrating, joyful, magical journey it's been thus far. I have so many incredible things and people and moments to be grateful for. I thought I'd share a few of the lovliest ones. So, to welcome a new set of numbers (and because I have an affinity for lists):

Some of the Best Pieces of "Before Thirty" (in no particular order)

1. That Tuesday night Every Avenue show in college. There was something special about swaying in the front row, just beneath the stage, belting all the lyrics in that sweaty, half-packed room.

2. Telling all of our teenage secrets on the Rush Lake "beach" in the middle of the night. The five of us spread our chairs into a half-moon in front of the water, the mosquitoes ate us alive, and we told all the truths we had.

3. Reading every beautiful piece of the classics aloud to my students when they really get it. Those soft inhales of surprise when Scout greets Arthur Radley by name from behind the bedroom door, the mocking laughter when a rain-soaked Gatsby comes back inside to see Daisy again for the first time, the covering up of a few reluctant tears when George asks Lennie to face the water and picture it. 

4. The four block stretch between houses, thirteen, walking at dusk, not quite holding hands. The first time I felt like the very axis of someone else's universe. 

5. That spring break trip to the mountains with my friends. Walking the halls, and standing in the history of the Stanley, laughing until late into the night, and taking pictures of every angle of the mountains and each other. 

6. Middle of the night moments with my sister on the deck of that little apartment in Norfolk. We sat under blankets and held mugs of whiskey-laced coffee that eventually went cold, painted out our dreams between us in the glow of the porch light. 

7. Backroad drives to anywhere in the back of the old blue suburban. Dad in the drivers seat, speeding up over the big hill to make our stomachs drop, hanging out the windows until our hair was tangled and our cheeks were wind-burned.

8. Reading aloud from Dubliners on the living room floor. You were leaned up against the chair, window open, middle of the night stillness, passing James Joyce back and forth between us until your voice was almost gone. 

9. Sitting on the back patio with Laura after that last cancer diagnosis. We drank hot tea, and she was tired but laughing; it was calm and sunny. It was the last time I hugged her, and I didn't say it, but she knew: "You already gave me all the things I need." 

10. Becoming "Aunt Katie" - Pacing the floor, swaying you under the celing fan until you sleep, continuous bribing until you finally learned to crawl across the living room floor, little hands on my face, warm little sleeping body laid out on my legs while I watch too much Twilight with your crazy mom, every new word you say, every little skill you learn. 

11. Reading at my last fiction slam in college. Shaky hands in front of the microphone, sharing the characters and places I'd created in that dim back room full of students and professors and artists. 

12. Council Fires. Dragging mismatched chairs around the fire pit and passing dreams and wishes, memories and stories, questions and hypothetical "what if"s around the circle until the flames were just glowing embers. 

13. That winter parking lot first kiss. Standing in the dark between our vehicles, possibility hanging heavy, fingers in a loose link at the first knuckle. Even if I had known how it would turn out, I'd still let you lean in for that first kiss. Because that sweet, slow, chilly kiss was the best of all my first kisses.

14. Watching my mom walk into Diagon Alley for the first time. The heavy air and heavy crowds, any negative thought evaporated in seeing the woman who brought that place to life for me, and for so many other kids after me, see it brought to life for her. To watch her stand in the magic of the place that was magic for me because of her - that was its own kind of magic. 

15. Laughing until I can't breathe with my sister. Often it's at my own expense, or in a setting that is wildly inapproriate for laughter, but the kind of laughter that isn't controllable, that continues without reason or permission, that shakes your body, and pulls out tears - that kind of laughing.  

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There are millions of "best" pieces; these are simply the first fifteen that came to mind. There have been "worst" pieces too, as there are for everyone. There have been pieces that weren't what I expected, and sometimes - not what I wanted. But I think, in some way, those pieces were always what I needed. Life's funny like that: it teaches you even when you don't want to learn. And even if not in the moment, I'm always (albeit sometimes reluctantly) grateful for the lesson. 

So, for my birthday, I want to remember what I appreciate about the years that have shaped me until now. I think I become a little more myself the further into life I get. The twenties were a wonderful adventure. With a preperatory breath and a little nervous laugh, let's tackle the next decade. It's bound to be beautiful.