Where Did The Chill Girl Go

birthdays happen

Today, I draw myself over the line of my 20s, into the wide open realm of my 30s. 

I’ve felt really relaxed about the impending shift. Six months ago, I remember talking to Chris in the parking lot of a coffee shop, rattling on about how I felt good about where I was in life. Of course there are many things I want to expand and lessons left to learn, but I could walk into my 30s with my head held high. I was sure of it.

This week, I looked in the mirror and couldn’t find that girl. I held my cheeks in my palms and wondered why that cool and collected version of me left this version behind? If I couldn’t find her, then who would find me?

In the meantime, I guess I’d figure out how to “celebrate” this “milestone”.

I don’t usually have birthday parties but last year I threw one together and it was more lovely than I could have imagined. People actually came, they stuck around, they ate the cake I made. The entire night was an easy breezy dream and I nearly cancelled it last second because our kitchen sink clogged up. Luckily a couple friends arrived early and coaxed the phone out of my hand before I could send out a mass text.

In an effort to recapture that magic, I envisioned another chill house party. But this time was 30 and we could do so much more! I quickly got carried away (what if it was a retrospective on my 20s??!?) then I pivoted to a return of simplicity (party in the park, reminiscent of my earliest memories) then I was like, no it should be at a bar where we can dance dance revolution! This process was exhausting and I scratched all those plans.

Yesterday I woke up and told my boyfriend to cancel the dinner reservation because I was worried it was stressing him out. Projecting anyone?

TLDR: waffling on my own birthday plans has become a full time job. Around us, the earth is shifting, the stars are dancing. Spring is threatening a revival, the moon disappeared and Aries is setting fire to a large slice of the zodiac. The storm clouds are my only constant. Right now I’d like to be kicking ass and taking names (it’s a saying I promise) yet I’ve only been capable of performing elaborate rituals. Yes I made it to Tuesday night’s Judaism class, but the dishes are stacked in the sink.

Never in a million years could I have predicted this self-indulgent turn of events. But the wholesome memes on my explore page say vulnerability is a strength, so I’m going to continue with this unflattering exposé. 

Back when I was 23, a guy I was seeing took me to a party in Joshua Tree. His friend was turning 30, surrounded by art bros in a sprawling ranch house. We hung around a pool crowded with men lounging on pastel floaties, tanned shins dipping in the water. Amber beer bottles were held with a loose grip, no one seemed doomed by age. I didn’t know the birthday boy too well but admired this casual vibe. When he came over to greet us, I said Happy Birthday, I can’t wait to be 30. I leaned in for a hug and was received with a lackluster single arm squeeze.

As soon as the birthday boy slipped away, my gentleman caller admonished me. Apparently a naive girl shouldn’t speak on the age of a 30 year old man. Especially when she alludes to her youth in the same breath. I never understood why the moment unfolded how it did. If I told this story last month, I would have ended it with, yeah, like what was that?????????? 30 is cool and normaaaal! 

But today, after this weird threshold week, I can kind of see how my comment could be perceived as rude. At the time, I really meant it. I deeply longed for the feeling of security that I believed must surface when the debris of 21, 23, 26, 28 is scattered to the winds of time. I’ve always felt painfully older than my age. If I could get to 30, maybe I’d feel caught up. 

That little 23 year old had no idea what her life would be and truthfully this 30 year old still has a lot of questions. Luckily, I remember where to find the answers. On the last day of winter, I quit listening to podcasts. I’m going cold turkey for a month. I figure it’s time to listen to the inner world, even if I just get my heart beating like a hollow drum. Maybe if I keep listening, I can distinguish the space between one silence and another. 

I want to be present for this shift, even if it brings me to my knees.

One thing I know is true: with every passing year, I’ve enjoyed being myself a little bit more. I’ve discovered everything I love about myself grows from a rich soil of self respect. Through trial and error, I’m learning how to hold all of it. 

Now I just have to get through this moment.

Yesterday I sat in bed with my little matcha, trying to meditate but wondering where the chill version of me went. Suddenly I was deep in my notes app, crafting the perfect funny but real text to my boyfriend, apologizing for the rollercoaster I’ve been on this week. As I read and reread the well placed lols and lmaos, it occurred to me that no one was asking me to be chill. This desire to temper things is an old form of self-preservation. Growing up in an environment where stress was a constant, I learned how to be stoic. I was praised for my ability to shrug things off, slumping the emotions somewhere else. 

Deciding how to celebrate 30 broke my signature stoicism.The self imposed pressure to keep calm and carry on just compounded the gravity of this celebratory moment. 

Any milestone has a double edge of joy and grief. I’m lucky to have arrived at this point, but there are parts of me that I shed to get here. The difficult edges were once so familiar, it feels weird leaving the decade that they dominated. 

To not be 100% chill is 100% okay. I won’t be able to say I ended my 20s gracefully, but who cares? If anything, it’s kind of interesting. When I look back, I’ll have a real sense of what I felt, because I really felt it.

That’s all for today.

xx
James

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