31 on the 31st
Today I turn 31 on the 31st, which despite being what I've heard to referred to as my "golden" or "magical" birthday, feels somewhat anti-climactic. 30 felt weird, in good and bad ways, but I've always considered myself an old soul so I like to think that as I age, I'm not getting older, just simply catching up with myself. But 31? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
For a very large portion of my life, I never felt at home in my birth state of Ohio. I lived in the same house for 20+ years, went to college a few miles away and after graduation I got a job and moved in with a boyfriend—all within a 30 mile radius. I've always felt like a late bloomer, physically and emotionally, so in the grand scheme of things I suppose it makes sense that I didn't move to New York until I was almost 28 years old. In some ways it feels as if that is really when my life began, and in three sometimes short, sometimes long years, I've grown into a person I'm really comfortable being. I'm in a city where I feel at ease, I have a stable career at which I feel competent, if not slightly above average at times, and I'm finally in a relationship that is easy, fun and reciprocal.
I grew up in a constant state of unease. I was a prohibitively picky eater, I wasn't interested in dating anyone, I consistently felt as if I was in the wrong place, in the wrong time, broken and in need of something I had no way of finding. It wasn't all doom and gloom, of course, and by all accounts I've had a perfectly lovely life, but there are so many times that I think back on teenage me and wish I could go back with a magic Beauty-and-the-Beast-style mirror and show her, everything is going to be okay.
I feel as if I grew into myself, and while I'm still not perfect—and will likely never feel as such—I'm definitely at ease with who I am in a way I've never been before. Maybe it's the fabled "wisdom" that comes with old age, or maybe it's my experiences or my choices or just some wild mysterious mix of brain synapses, but whatever it is, I'm grateful every day that I found me.
Francesca and I went to Chinatown last week and had our auras photographed, and while I wont bore you with the analysis, I will say that there are way worse ways to spend $20 and a Friday night. We had one of those lovely New York nights where nothing is planned and everything works out way better than you expect. Where trains run on time and the soup dumplings don't fall apart and you share deep insights and silly stories with someone who just gets you.
My life has been filled with long stretches of average days that blur together into years—days with annoyances and boredom and frustrations and heartaches and general malaise—like anyone lucky enough to live a life. But it's the bright spots that stand out, the large moments—landing at LaGuardia without a return ticket, or the first nervous "I Love You"s—and the small—making a friend laugh or the time I realized that I finally liked guacamole—that keep me wanting more.
