Today’s writing playlist: Swan Song by Victoria Canal
Today, I am 30. I am writing while staring, once again, at a yard full of snow-covered branches, the ones that seem to accumulate no matter how many time Jake wanders the yard collecting them. I’ve lived here for six weeks, give or take, and it feels like it’s been snowing the whole time. It feels like it might be snowing forever. But that’s ok. Because today, I am 30, and everything feels like a bonus.
Birthdays have always made me emotional. Something about the passage of time, the slipping away of years without realizing it, has always made me feel nostalgic in a slightly painful kind of way. I couldn’t believe I was 15. I couldn’t believe I was 18. I couldn’t believe I was 25, 27, 29. I can’t believe I’m 30, either. I can’t believe I’ve been through 30 birthdays and that I haven’t quite figured out how to get to the next one and feel like I’ve been truly present for the 365 days that preceded it. How many of those did I make sure I would remember? How many did I wish away or sleepwalk through? Naturally, all of this means I was a little anxious about turning 30. Not because I was afraid I’d feel “old,” (30 is not old, I know this) but because it’s a bigger birthday, a hallmark birthday, one the gets “the works.” It’s a birthday that gets a specific section in the card aisle, a special party, those human-sized number balloons that people hold up in Instagram photos. I haven’t had one of these kind of birthdays since I turned 21. I had just started dating Jake then, and was living in Gainesville, Florida. I didn’t have clue. I probably still don’t now, but I know enough about life and myself to know that turning 30 might feel different than 27, 28, or 29.
So, I kept myself busy in the weeks approaching turning 30. It wasn’t hard to do. There was work and house projects and unpacking the boxes that are still, somehow, not unpacked. Jake would ask me what I wanted to do for the day and I’d shrug. Nothing really, I’d say. Maybe go on a vacation later this year. And that was true. But I was also worried that this wasn’t the right answer. That maybe I’d get to my 30th birthday and suddenly realize that the day should be bigger, better. I pictured a fantastic party, the one I’d daydreamed about before, and how we’d invite all the friends who we didn’t get to have at our wedding, when we cut the guest list down by 100 people because of the pandemic. I had fantasized about all of that, and truthfully it all still sounds nice (I do love a good party), but it doesn’t really make sense for right now. It didn’t feel urgent in the way planning some birthdays had in the past, like I had to do it in just the right way or I’d regret not doing something, planning something.
But today arrived, as birthdays tend to do if you’re lucky, and I found that I didn’t really feel the way I had feared feeling about my 30th birthday. I didn’t really find myself wanting anything different at all. I wasn’t expecting anything. Wasn’t needing anything. Wasn’t spending the day imagining what a 30th birthday should look like. And for the first time, I didn’t feel sad about the day at all. I looked for melancholy the places I often find it and all I found was quiet, simple joy. Whatever else the day held was just a bonus. I keep coming back to this phrase again and again today: Everything is a bonus. I have everything I need, everything I want. Profound love. Deep, meaningful friendships. A career that fulfills me. A healthy body and mind that allows me to experience the beauty of the world fully. Anything beyond that is just extra. As the phrase goes: It’s all gravy.
Though, I am left with one question. Why does it have to be, of all things, gravy? I don’t feel that word really works for me here. So maybe it’s more like, it’s all flaky sea salt. It’s all flaky sea salt to me, because that’s the thing that makes all the best foods, impossibly, even better. The perfect chocolate chip cookie becomes a religious experience. A radish with butter becomes art. Fresh, hot bread becomes something you close your eyes while experiencing, because it’s as good as finally hugging someone after a longtime spent apart or your favorite song or taking a deep breath. Because you don’t want to forget just how good it is. Just when you think it can’t get better, flaky sea salt goes against the odds and makes it happen. Maybe it’s no wonder so many of us crave the ocean like it’s necessary to survival.
So, for me, at 30, it’s all flaky sea salt. Everything beyond this is a gift, and I am grateful. I woke up this morning and walked downstairs the way I always do, and Jake had written out a silly little schedule for today and this week, full of simple things, fun things, everyday things. Each thing came with a little note.
Tuesday, 7:00 am Olivia has a great morning. She feels well-rested.
Tuesday, 6:00 p.m. Jake makes dinner. She is comfortable.
Tuesday, 7:00 p.m. Birthday cake. She is happy.
Thursday, 10:00 am Laundry room plumbing. She is satisfied.
Saturday, 12:30 p.m. Brunch. She is full.
I shared the note on Instagram, because it made me smile, and someone messaged me and said that they loved the little manifestations/mantras associated with every event. I admit I hadn’t thought of it that way, and I don’t necessarily think Jake had either, but I liked that way of looking at it. I liked even more that I don’t need to manifest any of it. It’s all right here. I am well-rested. I am comfortable. I am happy. I am satisfied. I am full. Everything else is a bonus, a heaping portion of flaky sea salt thrown like confetti, a reminder that sometimes the most impossible thing is that you’ve somehow been lucky enough to land right where you are.
Beautiful sentiment and writing. Happy 30th !
Love this! I'm turning 30 in a few months and saving this to reread on my own birthday!