It always has seemed lucky to me that I was born at the end of May. Spring tends to come a little later to this part of the country, but it is in it’s apex at this time, with summer fast approaching. Everything feels a little like a celebration — the end of school, the beginning of summer, the blooming of my favorite flowers (irises, lilacs, lilies of the valley). Winter may stretch into late April — as it certainly did this year (my parents got 17-inches of snow three days before Easter), but by my birthday, the days are long and sunny and the air is fresh and warm. I suppose if I was prone to springtime allergies, I would feel differently, but I love this time of year. I give thanks to the infinite wisdom of my parents for deciding to bring me into the world in late spring.
I’ve been telling friends and acquaintances in the past few days that my 30s are much more pleasant a decade than my 20s were. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve never been more comfortable with myself than I have been since turning 30. It’s not that life is any easier or better, it’s not that I make loads of money or know how to manage my time better. There’s just some undefined thing about being in my 30s, something that makes me more comfortable in my skin than I ever was before.
Well, happy second-sweet 16.