The value of a deep bench

My thirtieth birthday is on Sunday.

And I swear I don’t care. I enjoy birthday’s in general, but I generally don’t mind getting older. I usually celebrate the milestones a little more enthusiastically than the in between, but that is the extent to which I pay attention.

Except this year, the year in which all of my family and I moved in separate directions. The year in which I moved away from all of my close friends. The year in which I moved to a state I’m not fond of and live near people that are lovely and kind that I would call friends, but who aren’t my tribe. This year, the year in which my thirtieth birthday falls, I am sad about my birthday. (Not about turning thirty, just about not having my tribe to celebrate with.)

I am making the best of it. Erik and I decided late last week that we would take the opportunity to go visit the Grand Canyon, to which I have never been. It will be a once in a lifetime experience worthy of a thirtieth birthday.

And yet, I am still feeling sorry for myself. There will be no grand celebrations. (Although I suppose the very definition of the place I’m going is Grand. But I won’t actually be seeing that on my birthday, rather on Saturday the day before. We’ll be driving home on my birthday. That’s pathetic.) There will be no grand gestures or enthusiastic parties. It will me on my beloved driving home from Williams, AZ, unpacking, and preparing for the week ahead. Hardly a blip on the radar.

And really, I wasn’t planning on bringing this here. I try to avoid complaining and sounding woe-is-me on this blog. I want to provide insight and information rather than just have it be an outpouring of narcissistic, self-importance. Everyone has problems. Me turning 30 with little notice is hardly something to complain about.

Except there’s this. I don’t have anyone to talk to right now. My tribe is far away and rather busy. My husband has listened all he can and quite honestly, talking to him doesn’t have quite the same effect as talking to a good girlfriend. (You must know what I mean. Do you often get the satisfaction from talking to your spouse that hope for?)

And so, here I am, two days before my thirtieth feeling sorry for myself and wishing this wasn’t the year I turned thirty. A rather unexpected turn of events, since I am looking forward to putting my twenties behind me.

Thank you for letting me complain. I promise I will try to keep it to a minimum. Happy my thirtieth Birthday weekend to you. I hope you have a joyous and peaceful time.

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