she writes on sundays

I really want to sit and honor my thirties.

I want to sit with where I’ve been and who I’ve become and what I’ve done.

I want to sit with the person who feels like she dealt with more than she can even comprehend in these ten years.

The thing I keep coming back to is a phrase that Patty and I had when we first moved to Washington in search of things that I think we didn’t know we were looking for.

It was simply this “Let’s do the damn thing”.

I don’t know really why I came to Washington ten years ago as a newly thirty year old. I don’t know why I chose a city in a state that I’d only been to once.

I just know that it was what I was supposed to do. I had no qualms about it at all. No nerves honestly. All I had was a signed lease, someone I had never met picking me up in Seattle (I also didn’t know I’d be meeting one of my best friends that day, but that’s another story for another day), I didn’t have a job, just a working interview scheduled and peace from somewhere deep inside that it would all work out.

I just knew that whatever happened was going to happen. 

I was going to do the damn thing and that was that.

And that’s what I kept doing for all of my thirties.

Somewhere along the line, I don’t know where, probably with the influence of Teacher Tia “do the damn thing” turned into the more aggressive sounding but honestly more appropo for me “let’s keep fucking going”.

I did really hard things in my thirties. I dealt with demons and insecurities and burn out and not enough-ness. I’ve lost friends and parts of myself, I’ve lost people and hope and there were moments along the way that I truly thought I was going to lose all of myself.

The dark parts of my twenties have nothing on the dark parts of my thirties.

I’m not one to throw the baby out with the bath water. I don’t really have time to meddle in regret.

Even the things that I’m not proud of at the end of the day, choices I’ve made; they’ve still brought me here to where I am and I can’t begin to wish away where I am now for the hope that a singular different choice might have made where I am now better.

My twenties were full. I graduated college, I proceeded to work in a field I knew nothing about, I made memories, I continued to live in a place I loved, I started going to camp, I traveled the world, I leaned into myself. I met darkness in ways I hadn’t before.

And I jumped in a way honestly I don’t think people believed I could.

And then, my thirties.

To be honest, if I wanted too, I could look at the last ten years of my life and easily chose to construct the narrative that I haven’t done anything.

Anyone can look at their life and see all the things they didn’t.

The chances they didn’t take.

The jobs they didn’t apply for.

The dates they didn’t go on.

I’ve made some jokes over the last 3-4 weeks of my life that at this point I’m just trying to survive my thirties. 

And I could make that the point: that above everything else, I’ve survived.

I could list all my didn’ts.

But, where the fuck is the fun is that.

I didn’t survive my thirties.

I lived.

I did hard things and I listened to God.

I did hard things and I listened to a God who was very different than the one I grew up with.

I met people in my thirties who honestly right now, literally make me teary-eyed thinking about them.

I kept people in my thirties from my twenties and they are the real ones.

I created in my thirties.

My singleness didn’t make me brave in my thirties.

I cussed a lot more in my thirties.

I taught in my thirties. Tiny humans and teachers. I taught the parents of tiny humans who trusted me enough to listen.

I changed my mind in my thirties. 

I voted differently in my thirties.

I laughed in my thirties.

I met Holy Spirit in my thirties.

I kept going to camp in my thirties.

I sat on kitchen floors and I palm read and I wrote in bars.

I sat around tables in my thirties and truly leaned into what that meant.

I met loneliness in my thirties.

I used my voice in my thirties.

I preached in my thirties.

I spent a lot of time in the backseat of the Steiner’s car in my thirties.

I discovered beer Fridays in my thirties.

(And also my love of whiskey)

For fuck’s sake I taught tiny humans during a global pandemic in my thirties.

I took vacations in my thirties and learned that the quiet hours before anyone wakes up are my favorites.

John Wayne airport saw a lot of my tears in my thirties.

I curated a costume closet in my thirties.

I lived in three different houses in Bellingham in my thirties.

I decided I only will make cheesecakes for Joanna in my thirties.

I got on a Tito’s party bus in my thirties.

I referenced the Labyrinth, vampires or smutty books a lot in my thirties.

I walked away from things that were hindering me in my thirties.

I found home in myself in my thirties.

I lost my mom in my thirties.

I officiated weddings in my thirties.

I hosted dinners in my thirties.

I wrote a lot of words in my thirties.

I learned to bake gluten-free and vegan in my thirties.

I affirmed that I would rather build the school and run it in my thirties.

I got on stage in front of an audience again in my thirties (a week after my mom died).

I learned I am an adamant supporter of the married couples in my life in my thirties.

I became a regular in my thirties.

I found my smile again in my thirties.

I became the camp bible teacher in my thirties.

I watched the children of my friends grow in my thirties.

I loved hard in my thirties.

I kept fucking going my thirties.

I stayed in my thirties.

I lived in my thirties.

With love for one more time in my thirties,

Meg