What it means

This is what it means to be at this point in my life. Turning 30 in a few short months. Turning big corners with God.

You spend your evening defrosting an ancient freezer instead of partying. You reheat leftovers because you gotta make things stretch 'til the end of the week. You do yoga now - a practice you used to make fun of, but now appreciate for the way it doesn't hurt your knees, back, or hips, and for the deep calm it brings you.

In the shower, you awaken from a trance and realize you've been standing there under the scalding water for a good 10 minutes past the point of being done. You think, "Why am I standing here? What am I even thinking about?" You continue to stand there, reading the labels on overpriced bottles, until you have a very grown-up thought: "Wow, I'm wasting water, I don't want to pay that water bill." Then: "Oh! I don't have a house anymore..."

I guess I didn't want to face my disappointing apartment. With it's un-new smells, malfunctioning appliances and screaming kids upstairs.

"I used to own a home? Yeah, I did..."

"I used to be someone's wife too."

You stand there for another 10 minutes.

"What did I waste my 20s doing?"

Eventually, you find your way to the mirror, and you examine your naked self like you do every night. You think, "Ha - desirable? You don't look so great anymore."

Then, with a lifetime's worth of sadness and anger, you think, "But I never got to be! I've had those stretch marks since I was 10. I wonder if I actually looked better when my skin was filled out."

You look in the mirror and think, "Isn't 30 too old for acne?"

You look, and you want to cry at a youth and a beauty you never knew. But. But! You look in that mirror and you start to have a new thought. You see the scars - the ones on your body and the ones behind your eyes. You think of wasted time. Of experiences had and opportunities handed away. And surprisingly you think, "I like who you are, though. I like who you've become."

5 minutes pass.

"Really?"

5 more minute. I've never looked into my own eyes for so long.

"Yes, really. Wow."

And you wonder if you'd have ever gotten to that point if you hadn't had the life - with its grand mess of joyful moments, tragic moments, and everything in between - that you did in fact have.

And that leads you to wonder why you're alone. You wonder why others seem to be afraid of all that you are, when all you want to do is give away some of this love that builds up inside you. You wonder why it's not enough to be interested and invested in yourself, and if anyone might ever be interested enough in all that you are to want to share your life. Maybe he won't make fun of the Italian opera you cleaned to tonight. Maybe he won't think you're nuts for the dreams you hold and maybe he might encourage you because he loves you. Maybe he won't try to talk you out of your personal commitments - your workout time, your simple treasured activities - to serve his own needs. Maybe he'll actually want to be a father. Maybe you won't have to be a perfectly stunning beauty. Maybe he won't try to dampen or belittle your simple joys, thoughts, or ideas, because he isn't ready to explore his own - and your openness to life frightens him.

Every 27 days or so, you watch your body prepare for something that may not be coming, because it doesn't know any better. You watch another chance for your own family slip away. Despite your growing appreciation for this body, you wonder how much longer your beat-up body has. You wonder if you'll wake up tomorrow and another ten years will be gone. Maybe nothing will have changed. I might still be the only person who's interested in sharing a life with myself.

And then you try not to think anymore...