30 years ago, I could read, write, and pronounce “psychologist” well enough that people thought I must want to become one. I was surrounded by family and hickory trees.
25 years ago, I spent my weekends slinging snowcones and my weeks buried in books or running around the farm with my cousins. At Branbury Beach, I was allowed to swim out over my head…but I still wasn’t old enough to bike on the “main road.” (“Main” = paved.)
20 years ago, I was new in town, with one good friend, one cute little summer boyfriend, and a whole new future.
15 years ago, I stalled. I got to where that new future was supposed to be and flailed; not only was it not sitting there, waiting for me to arrive — it didn’t even exist yet. I dated and had fun and did a couple of remarkably stupid things. I rallied.
10 years ago I was quietly uncertain and sometimes unhappy. Also a little sick.
5 years ago, even with a good job and great friends to lean on, I was vehemently, dangerously, predictably unhappy. I dreaded my future.
Today, I woke up next to the love of my life.
I slept a little late and ran a couple of miles (in running tights!), then we walked Rodney to the ferry dock and back.
Today, we came home with peaches and cherries and tomatoes from the Farmer’s Market and fresh mac & cheese from the local pasta shop. (Also — ahem — in running tights. Wevs.)
We took the ferry to the city for a long walk we’ve been meaning to take. We stopped for a snack and a drink and were home in time for dinner on the patio at a local place (puppies welcome).
Today — well, tonight, really — we sat in the hot tub for 15 minutes, then, as we were leaving, showed some 20-somethings the trick to get the jets to start.
Today, at 35, I’m more myself than I think I’ve ever been, and more thankful for that than I can say.
I have this thing about not doing Big Party stuff on my birthday…even the big ones. Part of it is that I hate being the center of attention (in person…clearly, being the center of this space is my choice) and have had good and bad celebrations in equal measure over the years.
The other part is that I kind of like spending my birthday the way I’d like to spend the coming year. Last year it was a simple trip to the beach. This year it was a pretty active day; if I hadn’t lost my Fitbit months ago, it would’ve reported upwards of 24,000 steps today. It was also a pretty local day, which I always like.
I can’t wait to see what the next year brings.
I just found out that the treadmill has been under-reporting my Calories Burned by about 100ish per run. For weeks. So THAT’S why I was so hungry…
I’m not actually counting or watching calories, but 500 extra calories secretly burned per week seems like a birthday gift no 35-year-old US woman can turn down, you know?