Today seems like a big day, or rather that it should be.
I have officially turned 31. An age at which I can no longer deny I have entered a new decade. I am no longer in my twenties or so close it doesn't really matter. Now, there's no turning back.
And in exactly one month I shall be getting married to the most wonderful, generous, loving, and infuriating man I know.
And of the two items, only the latter truly matters to me. I have found it strange all day to be receiving happy birthdays and emailed cards and phone calls filled with good wishes. Which, if you know me at all, is odd for me. I am the girl who has traditionally had a birthday MONTH. Who arranges elaborate get togethers for HERSELF and drags her friends, and whomever's closest more than likely, into one long arduous celebration of, well, herself.
I love birthdays. I love that everyone gets one day where they're are most important and everyone gets to tell them how much they are loved.
And I am a little shocked at myself for this year. Because, honestly, my birthday doesn't seem important. Not like usual, not even in the same universe as usual.
Because right now? I am on pins and needles with anticipation of our marriage. That soon, in a mere month, I will be someone's wife. Someone's partner. We will be a family. No greater, I guess, than we are now. But different. And I can feel the difference sneaking in. Drifting toward me from the edges of our life. And I like how it feels.
This birthday? It doesn't make me feel different, not in any lasting or revolutionary way. But the wedding, and all it means, all it encompasses? It does. And somehow, that weighs more inside me right now. I can't let go of it, I can't look away. I can just look forward, forward, forward.
7 years ago