30 Luft Balloons.

OK, so I'm sitting here chainsmoking my favorite brand (yes, yes- we know its passe and incredibly health un-conscious, not to mention I intend to hike the Rockies in mere weeks-its a process of quititude, I swear) inundated with distant sounds of weedwhacker-ing and consistent dings from my cell phone, no doubt nothing less than a deluge of birthday well-wishing-text-messagery. I appreciate it, really. Entirely. But just because the Facebook side bar tells you it's my birthday today, don't feel obligated, really...Today has decidedly been one of the most amazing days of my life insofar. I'm fucking 30. Seriously, I don't know how it happened. And had you asked me 10 years ago, I wouldn't have been able to answer with any certainty wether or not I'd be here at all now. The last month has been a menagerie of emotion, and could even be considered akin to the Kubler-Ross model in death and dying. Denial, Anger, Bargaining, etc etc... But, in the end, I'm still 30 today. And I'm over it. It's awesome. Asmuch as I've purposely, and at times uncontrollably- excluded myself from the grips of a modern society, I still feel inevitable pressures. I feel the warm breath of the societal machine on my back whispering "Are youuuuuu where you THOUGHT you would be at 30?!" "Are you where you're SUPPOSED to be at 30?!"...It put a kink in my system for a short spell, I'm not gonna lie. All the other 30-something gals are married, and are poppin out kids at alarming rates. They're stuck in jobs they loathe, but have very secure retirement plans- which somehow (?) makes up for all the loathsome-stuffs. They own houses and shit. (they're secretly all on Prozac too)... There "they" are, all American-dreaming up in my face...And the machine (and er...biology) is telling me that I want this stuff too? Really? Truth is, I DON'T want this stuff. I DON'T want 2.4 kids and a dude who doesn't understand me who I'm probably going to divorce anyways. I don't want a mortgage larger than my paycheck, and I want to honor who I am incessantly- thats all far too selfish a sentiment for the machine to handle. And I'm not secretly on Prozac, I surpassed that shit years ago. I'm openly on Cymbalta and Xanax. I want to grow at the rate my emotions and spirituality and sureity dictates- not at the rate society deems it appropriate. I will wait forever for my perfect guy, and I won't ever settle for less than. I will continue being an ardent feminist, self-helpist, soul-seekist, artist, purveyor of the lovely and strong. I will continue to be outspoken and suffer minor bouts of tourettes when I deem it appropriate. (Cuuuuunt!) I will continue to relentlessly, messily, whole-heartedly be myself...a woman who I have always adored and admired. My history speaks volumes about resilience and fortitude. But it also speaks volumes about the things in which are most important. Love. Family. Courage. Grace. Forgiveness. Love. I am who I am this year, more than any other- because of myself. But there is no question that there would be no "myself" at all without the family and friends who have built me. I'm 30, and I am so very blessed to be so..... <3