Thinking on Thirty.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the fact that I'm nearly halfway through my 29th year. Like, I'm going to be THIRTY.

I'm not that worried about turning THIRTY other than it's a new decade and it sounds a little foreign to my ears. The last couple decades rang in with fanfare, with the idea that I'm still young forever. Young but with new, exciting realities. Thirty sort of means something different, doesn't it, even when you're not necessarily afraid of getting old? It has a heft and weight to it. THIRTY!

Thirty is when I thought I'd finally be taken seriously. And as my mom will attest, I thought I was thirty by the time I was probably four. I had no time for childlike bullshit, except for when I thought childhood bullshit was VERY SERIOUS. Which was every day.

But here I am, on the precipice of thirty. Or at least thinking about what I need to do with the last remaining months of my "frivolous" 20s.

But if thirty isn't a big deal, then why think about it, right? In some ways, I think of it as turning the page. I've laid a lot of groundwork in my life. College, jobs, the loft, Molly, getting married. I guess the 20s weren't quite that frivolous after all. (Well—maybe bits from 20-23.)

I don't know. I guess what I'm thinking is that I don't feel like thirty. I don't feel like 29! Good thing. I hear you're only as old as you feel.

What did you want to accomplish before 30? Did you worry? What was the result?

Beautiful, In Every Single Way

If you haven't read my friend Doahleigh's post on feeling beautiful, please exit this post and go read it right now. It's not long, and it's very powerful. I can wait . . .

Back? OK, good.

First of all, I want to give her a standing ovation for her bravery and awesome writing. This blog spoke to my heart, and I am sure the hearts of women across the country.

Secondly, I'm going to publicly say that I think she's a beautiful person, both inside and out. And I'm so happy to see that even though the memories of her story still put a pang in her heart, but that she realizes, at the end of it, someone calling you hot or not doesn't make it so.

While I don't have an exact moment like hers, I spent my junior high years and most of my high school years feeling less-than. Less than pretty. Too skinny. I had crooked teeth until my parents sprang for braces even though the price was so steep (Mom, Dad: THANK YOU. It was easily one of the best boosts to my self-confidence).

I grew up in a family who told me I could be whoever I wanted, and that was good enough. I can remember thinking, as a very young girl—elementary school—that I had long, pretty blonde hair, and my plan was to grow it as long as Crystal Gayle's. I had big, round blue eyes and running around outside all summer long made me nice and tan. I remember thinking that I was kind of pretty. And I knew I was pretty smart.

Then, junior high. A lot of girls were developing their cute little figures, and meanwhile the scale stayed on the underside of 80 lbs for me, even as my legs and arms grew. I was too skinny. Nothing fit me right. Everything that fit me around was about six inches too short. (To this day, I can't wear those cute Audrey Hepburn-inspired ankle-length pants.) Anything that was long enough meant I needed hips and a butt. And a belt that my dad had to notch about 8 inches in from the last pre-punched hole. I called it "garbage bag" waist. Incidentally, this is ALL OVER the runways the last couple seasons (and my beloved J. Crew catalogue). I will never wear it. Ever.

My teeth were badly crooked, and to top things off, I had no athletic ability. Boys didn't even know I existed. I was a band nerd. One day I went to school, and one of my very good friends from elementary school (no one I've mentioned on this here blog 'til just now) just up and stopped talking to me. I remember walking over to her locker, saying hello, and her shutting her locker door and walking to class with me in her wake, clearly ignoring me. I had no idea why.

I went home and soaked my pillow with tears.

That's probably around the time that I felt that I wasn't very cute anymore.

I remember my brother telling me one night that it didn't matter if I was cool or not. He gave me this long talking-to about how being cool is fleeting, and that the whims of junior high students are not to be taken to heart—what did we know about anything?—and that life was probably going to suck for a while, but it was important to remember that true friends would stick with me, and that I'd be a super cool grown up, and all those people would be stuck permanently at the age of 13. I was like OK, then you go to school for me for the next two years.

I was lucky, because one of my best friends, C, was my best friend then, too. And we stuck through those awful years together. We used to joke that we were really too cool for the other one but since we felt bad for each other, we'd just stick together. We were each other's best audiences (still are), and distracted each other from feeling too badly about random Mean Girl crap. We danced in her basement a lot. To this day, it's one of the most therapeutic things I do when I'm feeling low.

But here's the thing: my stupid brother was right. He was right about it all.

Most of the girls who had those cute figures in 7th and 8th grade? Well, let's just say a lot of their figures aren't so cute anymore. And I don't judge people that I meet based on their weight, let's just say that this is sweet justice for terrible people (who continued to act like little dictators as long as I've known them).

Most of them still have the personalities of two-by-fours.

(And, maybe worst of all, they've been made victims, too. Because many of them now only judge their self-worth by their looks.)

Here's the thing about me. OK, I still hate most photos of myself, but it's because I'm not very photogenic. I don't mind the way I look overall.

Oh, and my body? It might be a few pounds past the point I would like to see on the scale, but I stayed pretty slim, and eventually I gained weight. (I finally broke 100 lbs. in 10th grade. And trust me, being too skinny is just as bad as being too heavy, socially speaking. Or maybe I just missed the heroin chic and Land of Double-0s culture.) I'd like to think my body's pretty cute too. (PS: C turned out absolutely beautiful.)

But overall, what I value most about myself is not my looks. And I can decide how to feel about them. While it's certainly nice to hear a compliment, my self-worth doesn't hinge upon one.

It's the fact that I'm a loyal friend and confidante, a good compliment to my husband, a kind dog-mom, and that I am an intelligent person. (I know a little more about style now, too, and that never hurts.)

I wouldn't go back and do those years for a million dollars, not even if I could go back with the knowledge I have now about how it all turns out.

But I'll tell you what: that experience made me a more compassionate person. And I know that truly awesome women are not completely driven by their looks. They are driven by kindness, intelligence, and good humor. And women who can set aside those jealousies and shallow feelings and truly connect with other women are the women worth connecting with.

It makes me sad that so many people could relate to Doahleigh's story.

But MY GOD. Look at us now.

all is quiet on new year's day

i'm tired. i've been sick. i'm starting to finally feel a little better, but i've still been coughing myself awake at night. stupid. sounds like around the blogroll people have been sick over christmas. that should be illegal!
i have been meaning to post photos but i haven't had time (aka william has not formatted them for me yet). i have lots of fun things to show you, presents and good deals, etc. exciting! (I got three dresses on j crew's final sale for $130, including shipping--i think that's a good deal! They are adorable and will be perfecto for Hawaii).
i don't have much to say. . . being sick really limits your talkies. i am however reading special topics in calamity physics. . . it totally reminds me of a heartbreaking work of staggering genius (which i loved). i'm sucked in but not sure how much i love this one yet.
maybe i should start setting out my goals for 2008. i kind of like making those lists. ok. here we go. a partial list, not ranked.

1. make desserts from my new cupcakes and desserts cookbooks.
2. make more dinners -- hot dishes, soups, and inventive things. break out of our mold a little.
3. get married
4. get finances in order
5. learn to knit
6. find at least five new bands/singers/artists that i love
7. make wedding scrapbook
8. blog more and with more quality
9. exercise. at least a little.
10. be an even better dog-mom
11. take a risk or two. . . shake things up a little
12. work on the green living thing. . . expand past carpooling, earth-friendly cleaning products, and recycling
13. send more snail mail
14. read more books, i've been slower lately.
15. practice patience
16. get published nationally (what? if i don't put it out there, i'll never work for it.)
17. take a helicopter ride in kauai
18. keep in better touch
19. finally decide that i'm good at something—anything!there must be something.
20. enjoy the hell out of my 27th year on earth. my 20s are rapidly disappearing.

everything you do is success

so, it seems that i and many of my same-aged friends are going through these crazy life evaluations over the past year. jobs, friends, lovers, life lessons. . . it's like a second adolescence, almost. and when i look around at all my friends i see so many good things: accomplishment, success, beauty, intelligence, humor, kindness, compassion, bright futures. we are a group of overachievers, and our success far outshines our age; that is to say, we've all accomplished so much over the past few years since college, and none of us are really giving ourselves the credit we deserve. we can look at each other and see the amazing people we have become, but we fail all too often to see it in ourselves. we are all experiencing these sea changes in our lives, wondering where to go next, what we really want to accomplish and how we really want to live.
i have always had a serious dose of self-doubt in my makeup. my success is driven almost purely by my fear of failure and some lucky timing. i always figured i wouldn't get rid of the fear, so i just try to step through it every time it hits. some days go better than others. some days have panic attacks. i have never been good with change. even if i'm miserable, change is hard for me. i'm working on changing that about myself too. and i look around at my friends and i hope they don't have the same doubts that i do, because i see how futile those thoughts would be with how successful they are. but i know that they do, because although our lives are taking different shapes, we're going through the same processes.
so i start talking to people about this late-twenties phase, sometimes referred to as the quarterlife crisis (although i always thought that was right out of college). then i heard about something: the saturn return. i mean, i'd heard of it before, but it never resonated with me because that's a long way away, right?
well, i'm knocking on 27's door (a little less than a month away). saturn's coming back for me soon. (i also figure for me and my friends that we've always been a little ahead of ourselves, so that might account for some early signs ;)
in case you didn't go to the link, or you didn't think too much of it, this is the part i want to highlight: "Saturn is symbolically/astrologically associated with time, challenge, fear, doubt, confusion, difficulty, seriousness, heaviness, and hard lessons, among other more positive things such as structure, significance, accomplishment, reflection, power, prestige, maturity, and order." My doctor just told me that nearly everyone around my age needs a good therapist. now, i can see why. growing up is fraught with all of these things, encountering ever-harder decisions and situations. . . but also rewarded with bigger prizes, which can be immensely satisfying.
let's see. . . for me in the last couple of years: my dad was diagnosed with, and subsequently kicked the ass of cancer. i graduated college (ok, it was four years ago), i got a job, i got another job, i lived at home, i moved out with my boyfriend after dating only about eight months, i got a lump removed from a scary, typical place (it was benign), i had tonsillitis three times, allergic reactions and a kidney stone, i had friends that battled sickness, i bought a car, i got a dog, i got promoted (three times), i traveled to new york and aruba and hawaii, i got engaged, i'm planning a wedding, i have worked long hours, one of my best friends moved far away, i made new friends and rekindled old friendships and strengthened my current friends, i paid bills and got cavities filled. it has been a hugely rollercoaster few years since college.
i met someone recently, a middle-aged woman, who couldn't believe that i wasn't 30 yet with my job. she was shocked at how much i'd done. it was a boost for me. i'm always thinking how i might be behind the curve, or how i could get further ahead. i focus on a lot of my shortcomings. and this woman was not a friend or family--definitely not required to say anything. i was like "yeah, hey, i've done some stuff."
but of course, it didn't take long to return to wondering about my what-ifs and what-whens.
i'm rambling here, and i know it. i'm not sure how to wrap myself around all these feelings and thoughts.
i guess what i want to get across:
hey friends. you are an amazing collection of successful people. stop being so hard on yourself. i admire all of you, for different reasons.
hey kate. stop being a jerk to yourself too. if you want to live to be 90-something, you can't have all that cortisol running around in your system.
also, hey kate. enjoy your moments. someday you will look back on this and wonder why you squandered your heady time with worries.