It's all flaky sea salt.

A 30th birthday essay.

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 su…