Only a month to go.

Turning thirty is making me introspective. I don’t remember if I was like this when I turned twenty. I do know I was a completely different person on track for a completely different life ten years ago.  But then a lot of things have happened since then. To quote one of my favorite books, Queen of the Damned:

forward“I’m a little sadder for all of it, and a little meaner and a little more conscientious as well. I’m also infinitely more powerful, though the human in me is closer to the surface than ever—an anguished and hungry being who both loves and detests this invincible immortal shell in which I’m locked.”

Okay. I’m not a two hundred year old French vampire. But what this means to me is ‘I’ve been through some bad stuff that brought me really low. And I’ve come back from it. I’m a hell of a lot stronger than before, more able to handle what is thrown at me, but I feel so much more keenly and want fewer but more precise, seemingly unattainable things. Sometimes that’s fine and other times I hate it. I like who I am and what I’m capable of, but sometimes it makes me sad because it could be so lonely.’

…

Told you. Introspective.

While I don’t remember everything about turning twenty, I have some thoughts on turning thirty. For one thing, I’m not so much worried about it anymore. Twenty-nine was a horrible year for me. If I were wine, the 29 Gypsy would be approaching vinegar. I had the misfortune of seeing people I thought were friends turn into hypocritical, judgmental people. They were cut out of my life, but I’m sad for them. Those are their true colors, and those are some poor true colors to have. I’m sad for the kind of people they seem on track of becoming. There was the belittlement and marginalization at the end of a relationship. It’s sad to see something that had such potential de-evolve into an angry mess you have to crawl out of on your hands and knees. Figuratively speaking of course. And being used by someone who couldn’t face their own problems on their own two feet. And there was one final straw to break the camel’s back.

If I were to pick a few words to describe the people around me for my twenty-ninth year they would be cowardice, anger and fear with a coating of lacking the ability to be honest and talk straight.

And that is why I’m more than ready to leave twenty-nine behind. Along with everything about it that was negative and attempted to break me in some form or another.

It’s said that everyone has one year that just about wrecks them continually. And while the year my brother died was the year that shattered everything I thought I was going to do and be, that year was still a good year in that I was surrounded by the love of friends and my closer family members. That made that year positive. For me, twenty-nine is that one year that was one crash after another.

But I do have to give twenty-nine something. It’s shown me who the best people are in my life—the ones that are going to be there regardless of what happens. Those will be the people who are steadfast friends, the people who are there no matter what is going on in their own lives. They have the strength to be there for others despite the hardships in their own lives. These people know who they are to me. And they will be the ones to come with me into a new year—which will be amazing.

arrowI had a thought. To tie it all together. Yes, twenty-nine had a lot of sharp edges. And I’ve lost a lot this last year. But it can be likened to whittling. The carver has to take the sharp edge of a knife to the wood, cutting away all that’s unnecessary to the art he’s creating. It isn’t an easy process. It doesn’t always go smooth. But in the end, he has a piece of art that’s made of only what is essential to it. That is how twenty-nine was.

…

And now we see what thirty brings. Perhaps this one will finally be my year.