My thirtieth birthday? Very not momentous. Peaceful even. For the first time in several birthdays, I'm looking around and I realize that I'm exactly where I want to be.
I think this is in part because I have reached a lot of goals in the past few years--the job, the house, the bambino--and am grateful for all of it. (Grateful usually = peaceful, in my book.)
But I think it's also partly because I'm doing a better job of at least trying to embrace the concept of "enough". There are some things I'd like to do to the house. There are some pet projects I'd love to have more time for. And, of course, there's always that pesky issue of not enough time. (Wait, I already said that!) But really--big picture--at the end of the day, I have enough.
So much so, that when Sweet Husband asked what I wanted for my birthday a few weeks ago, I couldn't come up with anything. Clothes? Eh, my shape is changing so much that there's not much point. Jewelry? I'm pretty well stocked. Books? Meh, there's nothing that I just have-to-read-right-this-second. While I reserve the right to be happily surprised by something small, mostly the only thing I "want" these days is to sit with my feet up, a glass of water at hand, a little knitting or a good movie, and a few reassuring jabs from the Peapod every now and then.
It's completely boring, but there you go.
So, we celebrated by basically doing just that. We went to see Harry Potter--just the two of us, plus one dear old friend. Not the binge silliness of years past, to be sure, but somehow just as good.