THE PUBLIC SHELF
Open on my 30th birthday
Thirty. You thought you'd have it figured out by now. You don't. That's the secret nobody tells you, and I'm telling you now, from twenty four, because I just found out.
Yesterday I had lunch with Aunt Rosa, who's fifty two, and I asked her when she started feeling like a real adult. She laughed so hard she choked on her iced tea. She said, honey, I'm still waiting.
So let's let ourselves off the hook.
Here's what I think is worth keeping, from where I'm sitting:
Sunday calls with Dad, even when he only talks about the weather and the Cubs.
The friends who show up. You know which ones. The ones who came to help you move in the rain.
Your terrible jokes. Never stop.
Cooking for people. It's the way you love them.
And here's what I think is worth dropping by now:
Comparing yourself to people online who are only posting the good parts.
Apologizing for things that aren't your fault.
Waiting to feel ready. Ready isn't coming. You start anyway.
Happy birthday, thirty year old me. I hope you're throwing yourself a real party, with candles and too much food, and that you let everyone sing to you without hiding your face.
Wear the nice shirt.
Me at 24
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