(whispers in your ear) I have a birthday coming up. A big one.
Don’t tell anyone, okay? It would involve showing my hand. Giving my age. Owning my years in a world where youth is craved, ingénues are glorified, women are supposed to be ageless.
The Psalmist once wrote, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” With each year that passes, and especially this last one, I’m realizing my days are not endless. Maybe that in itself is the beginning of wisdom.
I wanted to do something to commemorate these next 30 days, until my birthday. I thought about it long and hard, and I couldn’t decide. The 30 books that most impacted me? The 30 most significant pop culture elements I’ve loved? Thirty photos from my past? Thirty memorable moments from my life?
Nothing seemed right. Everything seemed kind of self-indulgent, which birthdays inherently are. Maybe I’ll do some lists of the above (don’t ever believe I’m above self-indulgence). But I don’t need an excuse to tumble into nostalgia; I throw myself into it enough as it is.
What I need help with is the present. Counting my days.
So, I’m going to do that each day for the next 30 days. Take a moment, snap a photo, write a little mini-essay. Though I likely will on my Instagram/Facebook, I won’t post daily here on the blog; I’m not sure I could handle the pressure. I’ll compile groups of five and post every few days.
Undoubtedly I’ll end up reminiscing about the past and imagining the future, for birthdays inherently lead to both. But I want to live these next 30 days: in Texas, in Boston, in Florida. I want to be present for the final days of my second decade.
Count ’em. #30til30