Today is my birthday. I am 39 years old. One more year until the nice, round four-oh.
Thirty was a happy day for me. I was elated at 30. I threw myself an enormous party in which every one had to participate in a talent show. Ian read Beattle’s songs as droll British performance-art poetry. Karl wrote a comic ditty about me and sang while he played the piano. Neil put art up on an easle. Kami made her famous beef-stew-in-pumpkin. (And swore never to make it again after it sloshed all over the back of the pimp-mobile, which later spontaneously combusted on the front drive.)
I was emerging out of my post-partum depression, back into my pre-baby clothes, and happily on staff at a church that I loved. The decade looked promising.
The past few years have been harder than that blithe birthday would have lead me to believe. I’ve been sick most of this decade (chronic migraines); a huge idealogical shift has lead me away from the church and onto a more ancient-future faith that refuses to behave and is always giving me fits; and the home I thought I would grow old in is now occupied by renters while I learn how to live life abroad. It hasn’t been a terrible decade — far from it! But is has been more challenging, and more surprising that I ever could have imagined.
It makes me wonder what the next few years will be. Will my 40’s be as dramatically life altering as my 30’s? Will there be more children adopted by affection, and communities built and dismantled as the Universe dictates? Will there be books and columns, or will blogging remain my means of witness? Will I feel wiser in ten year’s time, or merely have more questions?
And speaking of questions, there is nothing I like better than being interviewed. I think this is charming, and I love what Leonie did here. If I could be interviewed full-time for a living I would be a very happy camper. So on this my birthday, I give you my lovely readers free reign. Ask me a question, any question, and I will tell you no lies. Because really, it’s my birthday, and I think today it’s okay for it to be all about me.
Thanks for celebrating with me!
With love from a very mild narcissist,