I wanted to write some epic amazing post that would resonate with all you 30 something people out there.
Maybe it would get shared around the internet because after you read it you’re all “this girl (woman now, I guess, shit.) gets me.”
Oh well, I’m just gonna put it all down and see what happens.
At 35 I’m smack dab in the middle of raising kids, learning how to make a home I enjoy, my career, my artistic endeavors, trying to stay healthy, trying to not go broke, and keeping my marriage going all at the same time.
I’ve lived long enough to know terrific heartbreak and intense grief.
I’ve lived long enough to also know what true happiness feels like.
One good thing about 35 is I have finally separated out from teenage drama. Teenage drama may mean different things to different people, but for me, I just don’t have the time or energy to get my knickers in a twist over stupid stuff that doesn’t even matter.
I’ve lived through the end of disco, Madonna in 30 different incarnations, neon, Rainbow Bright, The Little Mermaid, Saved by the Bell, Nintendo, Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Princess Bride, grunge, The 90′s Bulls Dynasty, Guess models, the rise and fall of icons, self-indulgent rock (Dave Mathews), Calvin Klein, the Dot Com boom and burst, 911, political idiocy, endless silent and far away wars, the Great Recession, the destruction of the professional photographer, the rise of the internet, the green movement, the “me” generation and the rumblings of what I feel is the future of marketing and how we connect, blogs.
I’m living right now in a San Francisco that is very exciting but a little overwhelming and stupid all in one. Who can really afford a 4-6k dollar rent? That’s just ridiculous. And come on, if the city is so flush right now, why can’t we afford to wash the god damn sidewalks? They stink.
You see, I’m 35. I care about sidewalks now.
I both fear and embrace getting older. I am happy for where I am at now and how I have grown, but at times I yearn for my youth when my mother was alive, healthy and happy.
Every day my body looks more like my mom’s. My fingers, my knuckles, my face. Everything is starting to look like her. Maybe I first really became aware of what my mother looked like when I was 10 and she was 35. You start to pay attention more by 10.
I don’t mind the small wrinkles, the loose skin from 3 babies… Wait, that’s a fucking lie, I HATE the loose skin from having three babies but not enough for plastic surgery or any of that nonsense.
My deepest fear right now is that I would lose my children or they would lose me for whatever reason. It’s partly why I blog. If anything happens to me now or even long into the future, I want a record for them of what I felt and what it was like raising them and what a gift they were to me and how lucky I am to know them.
Well shit, I’m 35 and now I’m all emotional. Fuck, what is with these hormones? I’ve gone through 4 puberties. The first one and another after weaning each kid. CRAZY.
I don’t normally swear this much, well I kinda do, just not in mixed company or in my writing. I feel swearing is a sign of stupidity and an indication you can’t think of normal words to adequately make you point.
Well too fucking bad if you don’t like the swearing in this post because I’m fucking 35. At least most of my spelling is correct and I’m not using a lot of verys, reallys and exclamation points.
I know people older than me will say, “35? You are a baby! Wait till you’re 40, 50, 60.”
35 is actually young.
But 35 means I am an adult. There are no more excuses.
This is my life.
It’s time to make it awesome.
I’m gonna go walk the dog now.