I went to Disneyland for my birthday, because of course nothing says "new horizons of maturity" like singing animals, hordes of children in polyester costumes, and unrealistic expectations about love.
Actually, it was because I have these friends, Maggie and Sue and Mandy—actual, honest-to-goodness lifelong friends. We're scattered all over the West now, and living a diversity of lives, but there was a time when we used to own coordinating Winnie-the-Pooh paraphernalia and talk along with the safety warnings on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, and so we set aside the weekend between three of our birthdays to spend together. Specifically, Sue and Mandy and I spent two days revisiting our
Thirty didn't hit me hard. I didn't and don't feel especially contemplative about it; it's not like the weight of the universe is pressing on my lady parts. If anything, I'm feeling the opposite—the sense of confidence and self-acceptance they say comes with a new decade, but not in a hair-care-commercial kind of way. It's not an angsty age, thirty.
That said, my good friend Amanda wrote a great post for her birthday this spring: Thirty-Onederful Wishes for her thirty-first year. I loved what she had to say, and I decided to steal her idea (because that's another thing about being thirty: knowing when not to reinvent the wheel; also being able to make silly statements like "that's another thing about being thirty," like life is Marie Claire magazine). And so.
Thirty wishes for thirty years:
I want to be the salt of the earth. I don't want to settle. I want to know a good thing when I see it. I want to spend my days writing something I love: TV, or not. I want to control my tongue. I want to be a faithful friend. I want to visit all fifty states (current count: thirty-nine). I want to visit Africa, Cape Horn, and the Great Wall of China. I want to be better at conflict. I want to knit everything. I want to read everything. I want to give a home to a child who needs it. I want to look my reptilian nemeses in the eye and not run away screaming. I want to take my future family to Mount Hermon. I want my current family to be healthy and engaged and not afraid to have fun together. I want to live in an old house with hardwood floors and lots of windows and probably floral wallpaper. I want a teleportation device. I want a gentleman with selected characteristics of Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Zachary Levi, John Krasinski, Jon Stewart, and Jon Hamm to fall in love with me. Seriously, though, I want to meet a guy who makes me tingle but also makes me want to share a life with him. I want him to want the same thing. I want to make gluey potatoes and German pancakes like my mom's. I want a guest bedroom, so my friends don't have to sleep on the couch when they visit. I want to say "I want" less. I want to tell my friends how much I love them. I want to road trip. I want to find the elusive balance between interrupting with the answer, rudely, and not knowing the answer, vapidly. I want to run a race with my dad. I want to learn how to apologize. I want to try out for Jeopardy! I want a Roomba. And, of course, I sincerely and unequivocally want world peace.
Ask me again at thirty-one.