Of all the things I’ve ever been paranoid about, turning thirty wasn’t one of them.
And then it just hit me like a punk cousin with a nerf gun.
It’s like magical confetti of awesomeness bursts from the sky when you turn thirty. Your license expires and your health insurance goes up. Recovery time after a night out goes from a cheeseburger and a glass of water to a 4-day long process in which you are uncomfortable in ways you never thought possible and regain a new appreciation for Saturday nights on the couch with reruns of The Office. Oh, you also have significantly less money because you feel the need to invest in anti-aging eye cream and hair dye. And the whole insurance going up thing.
I started this blog in my mid-twenties. At first, it was nothing more than a way to occupy myself after getting fired from a job – which was an insanely terrifying, yet freeing experience that opened a whole new chapter of my life driven by creativity and discovery. I became a full time writer and developed a crush on photography. I used this blog as a way of documenting the craziness of life (in case it ever got boring and normal again, I might want to relive it you know?) and coping with various emotions. Whatever they happened to be that hour of the day. Writing has always kind of been that for me. I’m the girl who will spill lay it all out in a 5 page letter, leave it on your doorstep and then disappear forevermore. As the eternal non-confrontationalist, I write the things I cannot bring myself to say.
I’ve gained little soft spot for this blog. It has presented me with opportunities; it’s led me to connect with and meet people around the world who are unique and inspiring; it’s grown past cheap therapy into many unexpected things. I think I’ll keep it. Despite the fact that I’m the most unreliable blogger possibly ever, I can’t quit it. Too many good people hang around here. And I can verify that therapy IS pricey, and not covered by most insurance plans.
To say that my twenties were full of highs and lows is not nearly a dramatic enough statement. Although nothing is really ever dramatic enough for an Italian. As I look back, I can barely believe I did many of the things I did – or that I survived half of them. As I’ve slowly watched all of my friends grow up, move into 3 bedroom houses and start families, I’ve been on a vastly different journey. I’ve accomplished a lot, failed repeatedly, broken hearts, traveled the world, been incredibly happy and completely devastated. I’ve written about quite a few of those experiences on this blog … but many are just for me to live with.
Some posts to catch you up:
- Black Friday, Is This When I’m Supposed To Tell My Parents I’m Black?
- Here’s How I Feel About Your Bucket List
- A well thought out list of why you probably shouldn’t judge me
- How to avoid awkward encounters on your birthday
- American Idol Is A Homewrecker And I Guess I’m Part Indian Now
- How I went about acquiring a permanent hole in my head
On the more serious side:
- Somewhere Inbetween Victory and a White Flag
- Or is she a light sleeper too? Tale of a broken heart
- It all comes down to that One Day
- The girl who taught me more than high school
- An old Italian guy named Joe