I turned thirty-three a couple of weeks ago. It was, in many respects, a completely ordinary Thursday: I brewed a cup of tea and ate a scone for breakfast, spent my commute reading, walked across Harvard Yard to Morning Prayers before heading to the office.
From there, the day unfolded as so many of them do: full of emails, tasks, small triumphs and frustrations, along with the two standing meetings I have on Thursdays. I walked many of my favorite, familiar paths through Harvard Square, from the Yard to the office to Darwin’s and back again, going about my day under a vivid, arching, bold blue sky.
The day also felt special in some ways: my husband and several sweet friends made sure I felt celebrated, and my colleagues fêted me (between meetings) with croissants and a card they had all signed. One of the joys of social media is receiving birthday wishes from friends near and far, and I checked in a few times during the day to savor those. My parents were visiting from Texas, so they treated J and me to dinner at Pomodoro in the North End.
Last year on my birthday, I was in my fourth month of job hunting: frustrated, lonely, tired, deeply sad. I hadn’t yet landed the temp gig that would lead to the job I have now, and I was struggling mightily with my sense of identity and self-worth. So this year, when a friend asked why I was at work on my birthday, I was able to tell her: coming to work that day was exactly what I wanted.
My friend Lindsey wrote a couple of years ago that her fortieth birthday was all about real life: simple tasks and routines, family dinner, daily joys. Her words resonated in my head this year as I answered email, wrote and rewrote to-do lists, talked with colleagues about work projects and politics, and slipped away to Darwin’s at lunchtime for black bean soup and chitchat with my people there. I sat on a bench outside later that afternoon, sipping an iced tea and taking deep breaths to clear my head. And I thought, again, of Lindsey’s words: more of this.
Thirty-three is a place both rich and demanding: I have responsibilities at work, church and home, which often means trying to juggle a lot of balls. Thirty-three is gradually learning to ask for help with the juggling. Thirty-three is grateful that my husband and others are willing to step up and help me – but I still have to ask, and keep asking.
Thirty-three is speaking up more often, stretching out to take up a bit more space in this world. Thirty-three is leaning into my daily routines, my trusted relationships, my work neighborhood, and treasuring them all while leaving room for surprises.
Thirty-three is reading a lot of books and blogs (always) but also learning to step away from the constant information barrage: to take a long walk with my thoughts for company, or sit outside watching the sky.
Thirty-three is more aware of this world’s heartache than I’ve ever been, and also asking what I can do to make a small daily difference where I am.
Thirty-three is doing a lot of listening, and also a lot of talking, about the big questions: vocation and adulthood, politics and faith, marriage and friendship. Thirty-three also knows that the small things can save our lives every single day.
Thirty-three is growing more confident in my own skin, more accepting of my flaws (and other people’s), more and more grateful for this rich, messy, heartbreaking, quietly miraculous life.
I love every word of this. Yes, yes, and yes. Messy, heartbreaking, quietly miraculous – perfection. Happy birthday. xox
Thanks, dear friend. xo
Love the last line of your sentence. Thirties are a wonderful time in life but can also be stressful. As you get older it is so good to ask for help and not try and say yes to everything and do it all. We put more pressure on ourselves about this then anyone else. This is something I’ve learned now that I’m almost 57. You start to say not to some things and it opens up the way to say yes to things that really satisfy and excite you. My sister made an interesting observation about our Mom recently. She said she was authentic. It struck me as I never really thought about it. She was an interesting, dynamic, energetic person who grew up on a humble farm and never strayed far from there or traveled much but she was still such a dynamic person because she knew who she was and what she was about and was interested in life and people. I think that will be my word for the year “authentic”. Enjoy your 30s! Betty
This is so good – authentic is a great word. Thanks, Betty!
I will turn 60(!) next Sunday. Older than both my parents, estranged from my addicted sister, I turned in my driver’s license the other day as part of my disability is I can no longer drive :(.
Hey, I’m stoked! I love being sixty at.this.moment…;)
Happy birthday, Katie! This is a lovely post.
So, so beautiful. Happy belated birthday, friend! I’m looking forward to seeing you at Homecoming!
Thanks, dear! I can’t wait to see you either!