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402 days. 402 (plus or minus… mostly minus) posts.

Tag: birthday

Day 42: The Day

Today’s the day! I have officially entered the middle third of my life (all things considered). Is it narcissistic of me to admit that seeing “January 5” on things makes me feel special? It’s a rhetorical question—no need to answer.

So far, I have slept luxuriously late, sent my sister on an errand to Anthropologie, felt like a birthday queen via Facebook (thank you, everyone) and written a magazine article about the cutest baby ducklings ever. I’m already enjoying being 30.

At risk of rambling on about my birthday for too much longer, I’d like to share a couple of addendums to yesterday’s post about how everyone should dance.

1. This delightful video of Angela Trimbur, who filmed herself dancing solo in the airport. She’s wearing earphones, so presumably she’s the only one who hears the music. My favorite part is watching everyone at baggage claim try to ignore her. Why ignore? She’s fabulous!

Thank you very much to my lovely dancing friend, Katy, who sent me the video all the way from Mumbai.

2. This inspiring story about John Lowe, a 91-year-old man who took up ballet after attending his granddaughter’s recital at age 79. As a former prisoner of war and current principal dancer, this guy knows what’s up.

Thank you to the beautiful Lily, who danced with me in Italy and shared this story from Texas.

On with the dance!

Dancing in the Park

What I can only assume this year will be like—a joyful, blindfolded dance in the park.

Day 34: The Meltdown

Ok. I’ll admit it. I had a full-on meltdown yesterday morning. I’m talking tears, Kleenex and the creation of a giant person-sized blanket nest (in which to burrow). The whole nine yards.

On an unrelated note, check out the recent New York Times article on possible originations of “the whole nine yards.” It’s pretty interesting.

In the midst of the meltdown, I identified four main causes that proved to be pseudo-causes upon even the most superficial reflection. Here they are:

I’m turning 30 in a week. Cliché crisis? Totally. With only a week to go, I was pretty sure I’d made it to the end of my 29th year without having one, but my brand new blanket nest suggested otherwise.

I quit my stable job in favor of a free-flowing freelancing lifestyle. But so far, there have been no downsides. I work hard, I work a lot, I dance often and I pay my rent. All good things, right? But—sob—“everyone thinks I’m crazy.” In truth, I don’t think anyone thinks that. And if they do, I don’t actually care (aside from when I’m crying about it).

I posted two blogs in a row with errors in them. I fixed the errors quickly, but not before the email-reader versions went out. I’ve spent years cultivating a “let it go” attitude (only about the small stuff, of course), but apparently attitudes can be un-done. I’d like to say I inserted an error into this post as an attempt to re-find my Zen state, but I’m pretty sure this one’s perfect.

I’ve never purchased a new item of furniture. The reality is that yes—I have. And even though I’ve purchased new furniture, I’ve never actually aspired to owning new furniture. There’s so much cool old stuff already in the world, I’d much rather continue honing my pre-loved shabby-chic collection. It makes my apartment look like an Anthropologie store. Perfect.

Here’s the probable actual cause:

I spent 36 hours closed inside a cozy cabin on the Oregon coast with five of my favorite family members. In my old age, I’ve developed all sorts of new and confusing allergies, including a pretty strong one to our Christmas tree. With no fresh air (aside from the little bits of oxygen sneaking past the ever-burning fire) and a whole lot of couch time, I desperately needed to get outside, go for a walk and take a breath.

I finally did and had the pleasure of watching the ocean churn and burn some of its own demons in the process. I felt much better afterwards.


Here’s what I learned:

If getting dressed and going outside seems complex and overwhelming, it’s exactly the right remedy. Just do it.