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If I stick to my normal Substack schedule, this email will reach you on Friday, March 15 at the very earliest. I’m writing it on Tuesday, March 12. My birthday is on the 14th. So, technically, today isn’t by birthday at all, in any sense, but it’s close enough. I figured this week’s essay was as good a spot as any to reflect a little on the last year, and life, and the marvelous matter of being alive.
Last year on my birthday, I reflected on how I was feeling about turning 30 in this post. I will probably take the time to properly read through it on Thursday (and listen to the 30 things I’ve learned at 30 mini podcast, maybe), but when I think of it now, I can still remember where I was when I wrote it, and how I was feeling. We were on our second month of living in a new place, a new house, and everything outside was covered with snow. Spring seemed about as far away as the moon. There was no flashy 30th birthday party that I had once fantasized about, but that was fine with me. Jake and I bought a birthday cake from the grocery store and stuck giant taper candles in it. I sat on the floor of our new living room and blew them out. I can’t tell you what I wished for, but I know I was content.
Between that moment and now, there have been a million highs and lows. Victories and failures. Grief and gratitude and everything that stretches in between the two and overlaps. But as of today, it is bright and sunny outside, the first tiny signs of spring poking through the ground, bursting through the cold, and I am happy. I am happier than I have been in a long time, and I am even happier than I was last year on my birthday, because I finally feel like I’m settling into this new phase of my life. And I don’t just mean the house, or living here, but I mean in my career, too. I feel hopeful and inspired, creative and productive in a way I haven’t in so long, maybe ever. I fall asleep writing stories in my head, and I feel excited to sit at my laptop every morning, to start writing, and then to wander around outside, to sit in the sun, to watch a movie with Jake. Tiny, completely mundane things thrill me on a regular basis, and in a way that feels like a more me version of me than I have known in a while. Maybe this is what your 30s are, really, something closer to settling in than settling down. In any case, I am happy to report that so far, I like it here very much.
For this year’s birthday essay, I wanted to do something a bit different and share 31 things. Not just lessons I’ve learned or things I’ve accomplished, but a mix of everything. Reminders to self. Tiny joys of life. The things that make days feel delicious and full and rich. I do love a list, after all. So here’s my little list. Thirty-one things on my thirty first birthday.
Psst: (If I say ‘you’ in this list, please know that I’m talking to me more than I am ever talking to anyone else.)
Stealing things from yourself is a crime. Stealing potential moments of joy or peace or happiness from your own life because you’re afraid of what something might look like/what people might think/what might go wrong is simply never worth it. In fact, it should be illegal. Unthinkable. Stop robbing yourself of your own life, and it all gets better. I promise.
The internet has probably broken your brain. But that’s ok. It’s probably broken everyone else’s, too. Create more than you consume, lead with empathy, and you’ll be fine.
Shapewear is confusing. Sometimes, it feels kind of good to be supported, held in, smooth. Other times, the mere presence of a pair of Spanx on your body will make you resentful and bitter, claustrophobic and sweaty. You will fantasize about “being able” to just not wear anything under a dress. No bra! No Spanx! Wild and free. You will know that that’s ridiculous and of course you are “able” to wear whatever you want, but you will still feel your brain break anyway, making the calculations. You will get dressed for a wedding and think: Jesus Christ, how am I not over this shit by now? And it will somehow feel like asking that question, too, is a failure, but can I just tell you: This is just the world. The world makes it hard to be a woman, to feel good about your body, to feel neutral, to navigate any of it. That shit isn’t on you. It never has been.
You can’t perform authenticity. You are just you. And if you take a moment, you know who that person is, what they believe in. They’re imperfect, sure, but also funny and kind and can make a very good chicken soup. No, you can’t ever perfectly convey all of that to a crowd full of strangers, you can’t ensure that they will all like you, but you can remember it yourself all the time, and that’s more important, anyway.
Whole wheat bread was never that good. Ditto for whole wheat wraps. Stop fooling yourself.
Writing only becomes scary when you stop doing it. You don’t have to write every day, or on the weekends, or until you hit a word limit. But you have to do it consistently. When you do it consistently, you feel like yourself. It doesn’t become a looming, impossible monster of a thing, but the way you exist in the world. A gift.
There is a whole list of things that don’t have as much moral value as the world would like you to believe. Namely, exercise habits. Food. Productivity. Money. In reality, none of these have even a shred of moral value. None of these say anything about who you are, how “good” you are being. They never will.
On the first few warm days of spring, you can be convinced of anything. Booking a spontaneous trip to the Caribbean on a whim? Downing a whole bottle of white wine on a Friday at 3:30 p.m.? Planning an entire gardening project that you have neither the skill nor time nor money to complete? That sun hits you for the first time in a few months and suddenly anything is possible. Stay vigilant.
Aging is a privilege, aging is a privilege, aging is a privilege. That doesn’t mean that you still won’t wonder if you should get Botox, or get scared that you’ll hit 40 and be the only person you know with a visible wrinkle. Again, that’s the world we’re up against here. The state of things. But it’s ok to choose something different, too. It’s ok to remember that:
We live in a world where parameters of attractiveness is determined and outlined by men who aren’t held to even a fraction of the standards women are, and it’s ok to question them, or to not want to live up to those standards anymore. It’s ok if that feels weird, too, because you like hair and makeup and clothing and it all gets really jumbled up and confusing in there, I know. But also, when in doubt, just say fuck it. Fuck it! It feels good.
Sometimes, chain delivery pizza is just better. There is a whole world between gourmet, straight-from-Naples quality pizza and chain delivery pizza, and I am here to say that almost all of it is wildly overrated at best and straight up bad at worst. This is my truth. PS: I’ll take two sides of ranch and some breadsticks with that order too, thank you.
Please just make the appointments. Take care of yourself. See the doctor and the dentist. Putting it off makes you anxious and paranoid. And while we’re on the subject…
No, that headache is probably not a tumor.
Sorry, I shouldn’t have said probably. That leaves room for doubt. It’s definitely not a tumor. '
Right, you’re right. I couldn’t possibly be sure about that because I’m not a doctor. Please refer back to number 12.
When in doubt, zoom out. No, further than that. Zoom out so far that you’re in some Elon Musk-sponsored space station staring back at the planet Earth, where you live, where you sit worrying about that thing you said at a party last week. There are so few things that actually matter in this life. So few things you will remember in even a few years, a few months, a few weeks, a few days. When things get hard, just keep zooming out.
Be earnest and basic with wild, reckless abandon. Go to Target. Get the Starbucks. Cry about Taylor Swift. Look forward to getting your nails done and for that glorious morning when you wake up and remember you got your hair done the day before. Lean into the collective excitement about life and simple things which is girlhood. Why the hell not?
Say what you want. I want to write. And I want a tiny cottage filled with windows to write in. I want to fill it with quirky treasures I’ve found in thrift stores. I want to go there every morning with my cup of coffee and open the windows on nice days, listen to the birds and watch them dart by while I puzzle out a sentence, a chapter. And I could add that it’s all just a big, fat, blip of a dream, but…
Say what you want without qualifiers. That’s better. Less diminishment. Less shrinking. Expand your joy, your dreams, your wants.
Tell people when you like their outfit. Every freaking time. No hesitation.
Go to more concerts. Why does this begin to feel like an ordeal when you become an adult? The driving and the parking and the blah, blah, blah. No. Concerts make you feel alive and connected to both a younger you and to everyone around you. They’re life-affirming. So stop whining and acting 1,000 years old and just get the tickets and go.
Start spending more time in the present moment than you do in the future. Worrying, planning, hoping. It’s natural. It’s good, sometimes. But being still and sitting in life as it is now is ok, too. It’s scary sometimes, sure, but it gets easier.
Give yourself a break. Please, I’m begging you.
Yes, even when you think you need some “tough love.” Stop. You’re not Jillian Michaels. This is not the Biggest Loser. You’re not attending some bootcamp that you have to win at. You’re in your life, smack dab in it. It’s happening! Right as you read this, the seconds are clicking by. You have less time left on this planet now than you did when you started reading this sentence. You really want to spend the time you have here being mean to yourself? I don’t think so.
What if never being skinny isn’t the scariest thing you can imagine? What if you say it out loud and believe it. What if you finally admit that that’s always been your dream, if you’re really honest?
What if you let it go?
Some people probably hate you. For years, you’ve been trying to tell yourself the opposite — no one actually hates you, stop worrying, blah, blah, blah. But you know? Some people probably do. I would list the reasons why that might be possible, but you’ve already gone through them at some point (while we’re here: Let’s work on that habit, too, please?). But you know what? Who cares? You could be the juiciest peach in the world and all that. You have so many people in your life who love and understand you. You like you. Why spend time worrying about anything else? And alternatively:
Once again, fuck it.
It’s ok to like all your little things. Your treasures and your dresses and your colorful old objects. Collect them. Lean into them. Decorate your life with them. Make room for more color and texture and fun, always.
It’s ok to like yourself, too. And it’s ok when you don’t. Some days will always be easier than others. But you’re on your own team at the end of the day. Always.
This is it. No do-overs. No “one day.” None of that. This is it. It’s weird and wonderful and hilarious and terrible and wonderful again. It’s everything, and there’s something singularly great about that. What could be more exciting? What could possibly be better than this.
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I loved this Olivia. The thing about spring making you feel like you can do anything? So true. Also the point about how aging is a privilege. My best friend of 25 years died unexpectedly in January. I've read your stuff for a long time now, so I know you understand young loss. Aging is a privilege, and not all of us get to experience it. I know I will probably take life for granted at some point again, but I'll always remember I shouldn't because of that loss.
GAHH, this is so good Olivia!! I could screenshot and re-post pretty much every single one of these. What an intentional and valuable round-up, thank you for sharing with us. Happy Birthday Lovely! 🩷