30 is Fancy! It’s true.

Wow.

So I had my party last night. A small gathering of people I had emailed to come out and play, because it was a big deal to me to celebrate what I hope is the first year without major incident.

I spent the entire decade of my twenties being sick, getting surgeries and just wrestling with the idea that I was not normal, and that what was usually a good time for most people was not a good time for me. I didn’t do that partying thing. I didn’t blossom into an adult in an easy way. It was almost like reliving adolescence in its awkwardness and dealing with the snarky little commentary on what I looked like because I had a bunch of scars on my body, and a bunch of tattoos to distract.

It was only over the past year that things started making sense. I can say honestly that 29 and 19 were the worst years of my life, punctuated by dramas, emotional instability and surgical invasions. But during the year of life known for me as 29, I did get the noose loosened, and it has almost entirely dissolved, leaving stitches and staples, wire loops, Dacron, and a few black spots on my brain. I do not feel like less of a person anymore, despite all of the physical loss I have endured. I feel stronger and more awake than ever. I feel like fate has finally just decided to allow me to explore my life’s possibilities.

When I think back for my own expectations at this age when I was younger, there are some remarkable holes that have been bored in, but they have been filled in with experience and expectation. I thought I would be married of course. I thought I would have a daughter and a son at least. I thought I would have decided upon a career which would of course HAVE to be successful and inspire me.

Instead, I have had my own history to inspire me. I am my own hero when I think about it, because I know how weak I have been in the past, how bruised and torn all of the pages had turned during various points over the past 11 years.

Having all of my friends finally collide into one space was pretty amazing. I think people take that stuff for granted. I never have tried to have my own party, instead resolving to let other people plan it for me, one at 16 and one at 17.

That was really it. Turning 19 obviously sucked, and pretty much every birthday after that felt like a countdown to the end, a perpetual decline into something I thought was inevitable. Obviously it is inevitable, death, but it doesn’t have to be the main focus of my life anymore. I do have surgeries in the future, sure, but not any huge life dependent ones. I assure myself of this. I know it has to be true.

There was one point last night where the back patio was full of like 18 of my friends and I exclaimed, “I know everybody here”. This might seem trivial and silly to most, but it has literally NEVER happened to me. My memories of being a teenager are far removed from the me that exists now. But to have almost everyone local that mattered to me there was really awesome. There were only 2 people in the NYC metro area that didn’t come. But that’s all good, because I got confirmation that they both wanted to be there. JR thought I was pretty cute when I said that, and came up to hug me. E assured me everyone had a great time, and that made me feel better, as I kept asking people if they were having fun. I can remember several birthday parties that were not as fun as I thought they should be, if simply for the fact that nobody really talked to each other. Last night was the proverbial melting pot of the people I hold near and dear.

For that I extend my ETERNAL thanks. There are only a few of you who read my stuff now that were there. But thank you for coming. It really made my day!

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