30 to 30

I turn 30 next month.

Once upon a time I believed 30 to be quite old. Established. Official. Middle aged-ish.

30 meant you had a balding husband. Kids. A career. A mortgage. A Subaru or Volvo or minivan.

30 meant mom jeans.

30 meant you had things figured out.

How relieved I am to have been so very, very wrong about this age.

Because today I can almost touch 30.

And of all the things I once believed about 30, I can say only one was true: I have a career.

My "kids" belong to other people and leave me alone after the bell rings at 2:30. No husband (even sans hair). Still renting. I wish I had a Subaru (but reeeeally wish for that Volvo) and, if I'm completely honest, I think minivans offer some sweet amenities. I'm grateful I don't wear mom jeans--but I'm equally wise enough to realize not every body can pull off the skinny jean/jegging.

And I still don't have most things figured out. I'm glad of that. It means I'm consistently learning.

So, in honor of the past 30 years--or the next 30 (plus) years--I'm reveling in completely, utterly, overly indulgent narcissism over the next 30 days.


Each day until my birthday I will share my life from the past 30 years. These posts may include photos, there will certainly be memories, perhaps it will all just be an overly conceited celebration of me. Who knows? Who cares? It is certain to be fun. For me, if no one else.

And away we go...