In the wake of our trip to Seattle and Alaska, a decision was reached: no more retreating to our separate apartments more often than not, no more hiding out in the familiarity of our “single person” routines. We decided it was time to either live together or begin spending more time at each other’s places- living together “light” if you will. For now, we decided on the latter, which still meant certain changes had to be made in the interim.

First, I’d need to purchase and leave all of the toiletries required and some key pieces of clothing at his place so that I’m able to go directly to work. Second, he’d need to purchase and install a wireless router at my place so that he can use his work laptop while staying over (he’s “on call” 24 hours a day in case the Internet explodes or some junk).

With my shampoo and conditioner and his router each in their respective places, it’s now up to us to change our behaviors to match our logistical planning. It’s up to us to actually make the effort to spend more time together. “Moment of truth” stuff.

Later, after the wireless router decided to cooperate and maintain its connection, after we’d gone to bed still exhausted from Pitchfork over the weekend, I laid awake thinking about all that was changing. Maybe it’s subtle at the moment, maybe it hasn’t quite reached the point of keys being exchanged, but suddenly it seemed like much more than just the Internet had come untethered in my home.

In becoming more committed to my boyfriend and to our relationship, I’d somehow also become less in control of my own living space. Now there’s someone else typing on the computer across my living room, someone else tossing and turning in my bed beside me, someone else flipping through channels on my TV, someone else’s insatiable need for Diet Pepsi aghast at my empty refrigerator.

And then, there it was- the realization that I’ve never opened up my home to someone else in this way before. I’ve never needed or wanted to, never reached that “place” with someone. The truth is, no one’s ever tried to be a part of my life in the ways that he is now.

Last night, I gained a new connection to the Internet…and to him.

Did you just say "vaginal tear"?

Remember my pregnant friend- the one who’s pretty much been MIA since she got married and who had the Baby Couple’s Shower? Well, a week before I went to Alaska and found my true calling (to hug whales, of course!), there came a flurry of texts from her husband announcing she was having The Baby.

I sent a card and flowers, then waited a few days after an initial “Congrats/ love you” text message to her before I called. I didn’t want to impose and didn’t want to take time away from The Baby, but I still wanted to personally tell her how happy I was for her and see how she was feeling. Alas, but unsurprisingly, I had to leave a message.

Later that night, the phone rang and her number came up…except it turned out it wasn’t her at all. It was her husband. Calling from her phone. To tell me all about The Baby and The Birth and the current state of my friend’s HOO-HA. Yeah. I’m completely serious right now. He told me about what happened down there and bodily functions and how big “it” got and how many stitches and how sore and…and just…fuck no.

Here’s the thing, I think it’s great that my friend’s husband is so “present” for her and I’m really glad that they found each other and got married and now have The Baby and all that “American Dream” stuff. Really. But, I don’t need him to be so “present” in my friendship with her. I don’t need him to be my friend too. I have nothing in common with him and have little interest in knowing him better. The way I see it, the only thing I need to know is that he treats her well and makes her happy. Other than that, I can like him well enough as her husband without having to also like him as a friend to me.

So, no matter how he or anyone else wants to wrap it up and say he’s just being “nice” or “helpful” or whatever, I don’t want him returning my phone call on her behalf, especially without her knowledge of him doing so, let alone that I called in the first place. I don’t want him to receive instead the very heartfelt and personal message that I left for her on her phone. And I don’t want him telling me the details of her going into labor and what The Birth was like. That’s the kind of thing I want (well, as much as I can want to hear about childbirth- honestly it gives me the heebie-jeebies) to hear from her, not him.

The whole conversation and the context in which it played out made me feel uncomfortable, icky, and apprehensive about calling again. Rather than her husband, he’s beginning to come across as her gatekeeper and it’s just….weird. Yes? No? Sort of?

Call me selfish or an asshole. Accuse me of refusing to embrace change. But, as far as I’m concerned, no matter how much I may or may not like a friend’s significant other, that person is not a replacement for them.

There is of course the typical and to be expected mourning that the “trip of a lifetime,” which went smashingly, is now over. And there is of course the realization that I actually miss my boyfriend now that we’re back in our 12-16 hour workday routines, wherein we’re often too worn out at the end of the day to do anything except retreat to our separate couches in our subsequent separate residences. Who knew that spending eight days in the “snug” (although we were upgraded!) quarters of a cruise ship stateroom would go so well or would in fact prove (though I can only speak for myself here) to be a catalyst for a greater sense of companionship- even if (comically) one breakfast conversation turned to the theoretical merits of one form of melon over another? Sigh…

While those reasons are each valid and currently coursing through my reflective mind each day, I am instead writing today to admit that one picture (out of over, holy Nikon, a whopping 1000) has given me pause and disappointment. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, and I only do so in an admission to you now because I feel too ashamed to admit it to those who know me offline. But, before I admit what about this picture has me feeling this way, I want to assure you- especially you kind and thoughtful readers who do in fact know me- that there is absolutely no need for you to argue against or try to soothe my poopy feelings. Please, sincerely please, feel no necessity to try to make me feel better or tell me I’m mistaken.

So, with all that said, the picture in question is one of my boyfriend and I on my birthday. That night was also a formal night, which means I was one happy birthday girl to be wearing a fancy dress. But, because the cruise et. al wound up costing double the amount of the bonus check that was intended to fund it, I opted not to buy a new dress. Instead, I wore the white and black BCBG dress that I’ve only been able to wear once before and years ago at that. Before we left for our vacation, I tried it on and found that it still- though barely- fit and that (hooray!) the strapless top actually fit even better (I would still classify them as “booblets” however). Unwittingly, I packed the dress in anticipation of the perfect trip and birthday.

When the time came to don the dress, I did so without any concern for how it would photograph. I wore the dress all night through an impeccable five course dinner ending in chocolate soufflé, through a champagne toast with the ship’s captain, through after dinner drinks while listening to the (Titanic-like) string quartet. I didn’t want to take my fancy dress off. I didn’t want my special day to end. We took a picture to capture the memory.

Looking at that picture now, the only one it turns out in which the two of us appear in full view in our formal night fanciness, it would appear as though taken (it wasn’t) with a wide angle lens. I’ve NEVER been someone who says “I look fat” or asks the like. In fact, I feel guilty saying anything negative about my body because it gets thrown back at me by people who weigh more. Notwithstanding all of that, it cannot be helped that the picture is…not good. So while I may refuse to say I’m fat even after gaining 12 pounds in the last year, I can’t deny that the picture and the dress I’m wearing in it do me no favors. I may not be fat, but I certainly look fat. And my heart sinks with the admission. There, I’ve said it.

The picture is embarrassing and I don’t want to share it with anyone. But I fully anticipate friends and family asking, “Where’s The Birthday picture? Where’s formal night?” Do I shrug and pretend it never existed? The truth is, I wanted my “30th Birthday Picture” to be the one I could always point to and say, “There…that’s me on my 30th and it was absolutely special.” Instead, The Picture nearly brings me to tears.

I realize that I sound ridiculous, I do. And I realize that after the picture was taken I went on to spend the next seven days taking many other pictures that turned out spectacularly. But the thing is, even though I wasn’t bothered at all by turning 30, I’m bothered by the picture that very clearly shows the decline of my figure since I was formerly photographed in the same dress at the same angle when I was 27. Three years: who knew that three years without change in eating patterns or lifestyle would produce such an effect? I’ve simply gotten older…and more “filled out” (I write with a scrunched nose).

Ultimately, I know I can’t let myself focus on this picture or how it makes me feel inside. I hope to expel all my yucky feelings here and have done with it. I know in all the other pictures I look happy and healthy and older but not fatter or uglier. And I know that none of my friends or family would, if I showed them, look at that picture and think, let alone say, “She’s really let herself go.”

So, the lesson here? Get a new dress and/or a new camera, but most importantly, a new perspective. Because what matters most is not the picture that didn’t turn out so well, but the fortunate memories created that it unfortunately neglected to capture.

The reality I’m facing is that I’m now 30 and I weigh more than I did when I was 27. I’m one dress size and pant size bigger. I guess you could say I’m more “womanly.” And, whereas I’ve managed to grow into and even celebrate my age, the time has come for me to grow into accepting my new shape as well.

1. Friendship is a two-way event planner/ phone call/ email/ letter-writing campaign. It’s okay to feel bad when you realize you’re doing all the work. It’s also okay to decide you don’t want to anymore.
2. Getting yourself into credit card debt is one thing, getting yourself out is another.
3. It’s perfectly okay to come home and pop open a bottle of wine, then pair it with cereal. Pinot Gris and Special K are tasty.
4. Being friends with ex-boyfriends is a skill to be mastered, but not necessarily conducive to future relationships.
5. The opposite of love isn’t hate…it’s indifference.
6. Being afraid to eat alone, travel alone, and go to the movies alone will make you feel alone. Overcoming that fear, and finding joy in doing them still, shows you the difference between being alone and being lonely.
7. No matter who we are or what we think we want or need, fundamentally some part of each of us wants only to be loved and accepted.
8. Expensive make-up is nice, mostly for the packaging, but ultimately unneeded. Splurging on quality moisturizers and eye creams is money well spent. Beginning to use them in your early twenties, despite what the sales ladies or anyone else says, isn’t unnecessary…it’s precautionary.
9. A person tells you how to love them- not by what they say, but by how they show love to you.
10. Exercise regimes come and go, but a pair of “give up” sweatpants last forever.
11. Everyone makes mistakes, however, not everyone can be greater than those mistakes.
12. Getting a promotion doesn’t necessarily mean you’re also getting a raise.
13. Puking in the dark doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Leaving the bathroom lights off might seem like a good idea at the time, but what you didn’t see the night before will be twice as worse in the light of day. Man up.
14. Love isn’t a noun…it’s a verb.
15. Having babies is okay great! But kids don’t go away and you can’t give them back.
16. Sometimes it’s more important to love and be loved than to be right.
17. Work is necessary. Doing what you love every day is a myth. Who are these people? Maybe 0.8% of the general population? Those without thousands of dollars in student loans? The truth is: you get a job- it’s good to have a job and a routine- and you do the best you can. Then, you take the money you make and you LIVE.
18. People will disappoint you. That they have is a sign that you (still) care.
19. Depression isn’t something to be ashamed of, it isn’t all in your head, it isn’t less serious than “all the rest of the world’s problems,” and it won’t get better on its own.
20. Just because you’re related doesn’t mean you get a “free pass” for your behavior.
21. It is a universal truth: when you’re not looking, you’ll find someone- or they’ll find you! Every time. Every single time. So…be open to meeting someone, but stop looking.
22. Understanding is not the same as agreeing.
23. When you’re coming into work late, don’t be angry or annoyed or stressed when you run into your co-workers in the lobby or the hallway. Smile and try to be nice- it’s not their fault you’re late. Also, pick up treats before you get there. Nothing covers tardiness like pastry.
24. Saying you apologize is not the same thing as saying you’re sorry.
25. Bigger is not always better. It’s true whether it’s the helping on your plate, the car you’re trying to parallel park, the party/ wedding you’re planning, or….yes, even that.
26. If you’re really good at something but you hate it, make sure you keep that a hidden talent. Unless of course you want to be the “go to” person in charge of doing it ALL the time.
27. The hardest part about loving someone is choosing to let them go.
28. Speak to the “gatekeepers” as you would to those you’re trying to reach. They’re absolutely instrumental to your success.
29. Every relationship has something. But only those in the relationship can possibly know all that passes behind closed doors.
30. Being exactly who you are can be both the easiest and the most difficult thing in the world.

My experiences leading up to 30 have been a bit…different.

A couple of years ago in a session with my therapist, at the end of a long term relationship, she asked me to think about where I wanted to find myself at 30. She asked me to make a new “list.” I haven’t thought much about it since, I’ve been busy working and living out the days between as I would have regardless. My inner compass always seems to guide me toward opportunities or people or places that I’m happy to find along the way.

So with or without that list, I’m excited to turn 30 tomorrow. Thirty feels “right,” feels like the age I’ve already been for years, feels like where I belong. And the list? I revisited it the other day and was amused by what I read. For the most part, I think it holds up.

1. Find a new job.
2. Get out of credit card debt.
3. Go to Paris.
4. Buy the Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 handbag.
5. Keep writing my blog.
6. Be a better friend.
7. Date again, and hopefully find someone to have a relationship with.

Taking stock against that list: I’m still with the same company although I’ve just been promoted, I’m $700 away from being out of credit card debt, I haven’t seen Paris but went to NYC three times, the D.R. twice more, am in Seattle right now (hellooo, Seattle!) and am about to board an 8-day cruise to see Alaska instead, I haven’t and no longer want to buy the LV bag, I still (sometimes and would like to make the time to more frequently) write here, I’ve worked hard at making new friends and maintaining both old and new friendships, and I began dating again and am with someone who makes me feel safe and loved whether or not marriage or babies are down the road for us or not. All in all, I think I’ve done a pretty good job of ending up where I wanted to be at 30.

Looking back at who I was when I began my twenties compared to who I am as I depart them, I’m still very much the same hopeful girl. Only now I’ve realized that you can’t really “plan” life, that sometimes life happens and it’s more about what you make of it than what you make of what you didn’t end up with for all your planning.

At 30, I’m not going to make a new list. I’m going to keep living much the way I have since I made the original one. But there’s one glaring omission that I’d like to add and hopefully “achieve” in my thirties.

I’m still battling the same insecurities as I was when I was 10 years old and it harms me in countless ways. I don’t necessarily show it or write it or talk about it, but it’s there inside my own thinking nearly every day. I may know my capabilities and strengths better 20 years later, but I’m still my own worst enemy. I’m the first person to criticize myself, deem myself “not good enough,” and take that disapproval out on myself. Still.

The eighth item I’d add to the list is “be kinder to myself.” I want to find happiness at 31 and 35 and 39 because I’m nice to myself, because I’ve learned to no longer rip myself to shreds over what are ultimately inconsequential things. I want to unfasten my negative inner monologue and accept and appreciate myself flaws and all. No small task, but it’s probably the most important one.

The thing is, I can always be a better person, a better friend and daughter and girlfriend and coworker and neighbor. I can always strive to be better than I am. But the person I already am is pretty damn good too. If I write it enough, maybe I’ll believe it. If I think it enough, maybe I’ll feel it.

I haven’t seen my therapist in three months, but I know she’d approve and be proud of my addition to the original list. I know she’d tell me I’ve figured “it” out, that I’ve learned a lot from my twenties, am on my way to many happinesses in my thirties, and that when sadness or hardship finds me again I’ll be better equipped to not only live through it but thrive.

I think she’d be right.

When I began blogging nearly four years ago, I didn’t really “think it through.” I had no grand plans or ideas about content or even much concern for the name or layout of the blog itself. I just knew that I wrote what other people wanted me to write all day long, and the only way to do so without burning out was to find a way to give my narrative voice a forum as well. For me, blogging was an outlet, an experiment, a message in a bottle. It still is in a lot of ways.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when without thought or cause I questioned it the other day. One minute I was brushing my teeth, and the next I was asking myself, Why do you still blog anyway? What’s the point? It was enough to give me pause. As I stood there, toothbrush in hand and absently looking in the mirror, I wondered what it could mean. A brow-furrowing, disturbing moment to say the least.

And now, I can’t seem to push the question back into my subconscious. Each day I’ve revisited what it could portend. Am I losing interest in blogging? If it’s not that, then what is it?

More than decrying any intent to stop blogging, I think I’ve reached the point of questioning where my blogging is going. What is it all for? Who is it for? To what end am I writing?

I write when the mood strikes me. I write about whatever my whims land upon. I write when I form that one true sentence in my mind. That’s all I need and I’m off. I’ve always written in that manner and I don’t believe that is something that will ever change or disappear. And yet, I can’t help but feel like maybe I’m blogging the equivalent of treading water.

These days, with so many bloggers traveling to meet-ups or getting book deals or parlaying their social media identities into careers, I’m wondering if maybe I ought to be doing the same…if I should be writing, commenting, leveraging, achieving more than this little pile of Internet.

But, I’m also wondering whether it “should” result in something. Can’t blogging be both the means and the end?