Another Year Older; Another List Wiser

The night before my birthday always tends to bring with it a bit of introspection. I tend to consider all of the moments throughout the past year that have brought me something important: joy, peace, heartache, struggle, acceptance, laughter, love. This year is no exception. Each year I think: there can't be many more lessons to learn, and yet...another set of months passes and with them come, again, those moments that teach me something. 

I sat at this same kitchen table exactly one year ago and wrote a list of the lovliest pieces of life before thirty. And tonight, thinking back on the year it's been since I wrote those things down, I'm realizing that it has not been the year that I imagined it might be. I was so sure, one year ago, that thirty would be my defining year. It would be the year, my year. And now...watching the clock run out the hours until thirty-one, I understand that it doesn't ever truly work that way. Age does not automatically bring clarity. It doesn't bring contentment or provide the final step up to "the way it's supposed to be." Time won't do anything unless you do something with time. 

This year, this year that I thought was going to be the one that put all of my puzzle pieces into place, has been a difficult one for me. It has brought challenges I didn't ever see coming. It brought struggles I wasn't ready for, and situations that were out of the control I so desperately seek in my life. And it taught me something: the stars are not just going to align. My life is not going to reach its "peak." Because...and it seems silly that I didn't realize it before...if life reaches its peak, it can't possibly get any better. And what a sad thing that would be: to exist in a reality that couldn't possibly improve. To be a person that couldn't become stronger, better, more. The struggles of this year have reinforced for me more than ever before that happiness is a not a destination. It's a state of being. It's a state of mind. It's an attitude, an outlook. Happiness is a choice. And choices are work. Choices are conscious and reactive. If happiness is what you want, you have to choose it. 

So tonight, on the eve of thirty-one, I'd like to choose joy. And in order to do that, it makes sense to do what I do best: write it down. Thus, things from thirty that have brought me joy:

Sunshine on the back deck on summer evenings. Some of the people that I love best lounged or crowded around the patio table hashing out our days and our excitements and our frustrations until the sun sinks low over the cornfield. 

Little moments with my small, tight-knit group of friends. Laughing over a drink to Cindy Lauper on the jukebox, faces barely lit in a circle around a bonfire, talking late into the night about the things we wish for each other, for the people and the places we love, for the world. 

The relationships I've built with my students. Creating a safe place for them to escape when the world or their teen hearts get too heavy. Talking through stories and ideas, the gift that is reading their dreams and their horrors and their wishes on paper, trying my best to teach them how to be the best versions of themselves. 

Sunday mornings around the breakfast table at my parents' house. Quickly pouring myself a cup of coffee before my lovely, impatient, gift of a mother shoos me out of her path from the stove to the sink. The joke that Dad makes three times that morning: once to Mom before I arrive, once when I walk through the door, and one more time after my sister finally sits down in the seat opposite me at the table. Cell phones silenced and tucked away as per my mother's firmest rule. 

The sweetest goodnight kiss on the front porch steps. The only one I've ever had that made me lean against the door after I shut it just so the universe could regain a little semblence of balance. 

An accidental Tuesday night conversation on the two end barstools. I hadn't planned to run into you. And I didn't realize how late it was until hours after I'd sat down just to say hello, still talking because we just hadn't run out of things to say. 

Drives to nowhere with a song I'll play too many times on repeat. Just a drive. The same backroads I always drive, letting the music turn the volume down on anything that I don't know what to do with. And somehow, by the time I pull back into my driveway - it feels a little better than it was before. 

Just tree lights and my favorite Christmas movie on in the living room. You set up a make-shift fort on the living room floor and made popcorn, brought me coffee with whipped cream, and I fell asleep before the movie was over. 

Any day with the sweet littles I'm so lucky to love. That tiny two-year-old laughter ringing down the hallway before you jump into my arms. The knowing little tilt of your head when someone tells you your pigtails look "so pretty." Snuggled in the crook of my arm in your pajamas on the couch. 

That afternoon on the riverbank with one fishing pole. I don't think either of us watched the line. Nothing was biting. But the sun was shining, and the water was cool on our feet, and we were laughing, and the entire world was bright. 

The night we took turns playing songs on the living room couch until the clock read too late. Just you and me and the lyrics that somehow said things we couldn't, pulled out secrets and stories that we hadn't thought to share before. And at some point it was the middle of the night, but going to bed seemed less important than the something that was happening in that dim room.

The start of a sunset from the boat on the lake. Some of my very favorite people. Our favorite place. Fishing poles in the water. Bare feet on the edge of the boat. Country song on the radio. Every voice singing just a little bit off key.

Thirty brought with it a new set of challenges, a new set of struggles, but then also: so many lovely things and moments and people. I'm lucky to have spent the first year of this decade loving, dreaming, struggling, laughing, learning. I'm lucky to have so much beauty in my life. My birthday always seems to be a good time to remind myself of that. 

Last year, I sat at this kitchen table, and I wished to remember to appreciate the things that shaped my life thus far. This year, I hope for the grace to accept whatever comes, and the mindfullness to recognize the possibilities for joy when they arise. To appreciate the gifts and the moments and the people, and to love at every opportunity. 

Another little breath of preperation, and let's tackle thirty-one.