So today I turned the big 3-0. I woke this morning with more melancholy than cheer.
It might have been that I am overcoming the after effects of a friend hangover after spending four great days with friends in San Antonio and their teeny baby.
It might have been that it had been a week since I got to see the baby that holds such a big chunk of my heart these days. (This was luckily corrected with a lunch date.)
It might be that I am feeling guilty for having boarded the cats for the first time over the long weekend. After the great Quincy debacle of our last vacation, we didn’t want to leave them with a cat sitter and risk another random escape. After five days at the kitty inn (cats only, no dogs allowed), however, Muffin has lost a ton of weight. She’s all bones right now. She’s eating and seems to already be filling back out, but I feel bad about the stress it caused her.
It might be that my birthday is on a Wednesday and, really, who wants their birthday to be on a Wednesday?
If I look at things with even just a smidgen bit of perspective, I am pleased with where I am at thirty. I am living a much happier, more fulfilling life that I might have predicted. I never expected that I would actually get to go to college, especially a college like Reed. I always knew I had the grades to get into college, but I was never convinced that the finances would be there to make it actually happen. The same goes for graduate school. I can still remember how elated I was to find out that you do not have to pay (and in fact get paid) to go to graduate school in the sciences.
Growing up I didn’t think I would ever get married. I never expected to find someone that would love me and the family that comes along with me, idiosyncrasies and all.
What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is that I am thankful for all of the unexpected delights, big and small, the last thirty years have brought with them. Happy birthday to me.