Thirty still stares at me, just from the left rather than the right now. It's like the stony face of an elegant cameo that is lovely but silent. The specialized commodity it holds has already proven to be of more wisdom, sophistication, and unpretentious simplicity. I once thought this decade would be my undoing as it brought the death of my youth. But alas, it has given me the gift of contentment.
Though I sit here confident in whom I've become and what I want for my life I'm far from having it all figured out. Last year was my initiation to this era and it was a beginning stage full of growing pains. I had one foot in the past and a hand gripping the edge of that closed door to the twenties. I tried to stay there, attempted to make it fit my new world, thoughts, outlook, body. But try as I may no new piercing or lingo could fit me back into that toothpaste tube once I had been squeezed out.
So, here I sit with a knowing smile that silently laughs at how that year must have looked from the outside and how it felt desperate in so many ways. But what I have gained is a seat at the table of women and men that fit into their own skin. We are a community of adults who have mostly gotten the wiggles out and surrender to the fact that we will never have it all figured out. The difference between us and the skins of ourselves that we have shed is the acceptance that our light shines from within. Oh what a journey it's been trying to light up our eyes, hair, asses, and smiles with things that make us shine. I'm not sure if it's travesty or brilliance that knowing the difference requires failure and pain on a level that involves dying to our very selves so that we can begin to shift into the beings we were always meant to be.
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