Vol. 72: Re-becoming at 31

Last Monday, August 21, was my thirty first birthday. I’ll be honest, I had a lot of pre-birthday blues this year. The day itself was so special, reading poetry on the beach with my wife, and was also bookended by two of the worst mental health days I’ve had in a minute. As a person who loves celebrating and feeling celebrated, I had some anxiety (okay, a lot) about the year after a milestone birthday. I couldn't shake the fear that I was too much (even as my friends and family showed up, loved me, showed me that I wasn't).

30 was a good year, but one that flew by way too fast. It started with a big party with friends and family. I felt loved and also overwhelmed by the size and logistics of being out at a bar with a big group. I took my sabbatical that fall and spent nine days in Italy with my best friend Julia, eating pasta, drinking wine, hiking down a mountain in Cinque Terre as the sun set. I had a chance to practice true rest, to lean into creativity, to watch Girlfriends for hours on end. I went to Vermont and celebrated one year of marriage with my wife. So far, year two has been SO. MUCH. BETTER than year one. I love how strong our relationship is, how much our communication as improved as we move through our thirties. I could write a whole essay on this (and will!) but this will be my marital advice from here on out: YEAR TWO IS BETTER!

My wife got sick; we both took care and prioritized her health, and I took better care of myself, too. I joined an amazing yoga studio and got to know and love the people there, so much so that I'm starting yoga teacher training later this month to get more involved in the community.

I don’t remember much about winter, to be honest. My wife and I spent our first Christmas just us and we made it special even though she was sick and we were homesick. I missed (and still miss) my Grandma. A lot. In January, I spent a weekend with my in-laws for the first time. It was awkward and it was normal all the same. I got to know my father-in-law a lot more, and a man that couldn't even say hi to me when I met him the day before my wedding to his daughter now calls me on the phone to see how I'm doing.

I found out my best friend was pregnant and we grew closer as I talked to her on the phone so much more, experiencing her pregnancy from afar but by her side at the same time and felt so lucky to have a friend like Maggie.

In March, I felt so creative and inspired. I took a journaling workshop with Kima Jones and wrote and wrote and wrote and then lost it but I’ll bring it back. I planned a vacation I wasn’t invited on and was sad and hurt but instead of wallowing I invited friends over and we did crafts. I felt loved asking my people to show up for me. I made new friends and got to know other friends better. I did my best to show up for my community as too many people I love experienced life-altering losses.

I decided to stay at my company and then, later, I changed my mind. I seriously suffered at work and had one of the hardest conference cycles of my life. I hosted my favorite singer at our conference, Vienna Teng, a true professional and personal highlight after fifteen years of being a fan. I interviewed for another job and didn’t get it.

I went to concerts - DVSN, Mac Ayres, and Beyoncé twice.

I had kind of weird summer but also so many kayaking trips in Michigan and one on the Anacostia with Malik. We decided to move to Michigan (but maybe we won't? Time will tell). Maggie's baby was born and I get to meet him soon. I had two colds this summer so I had to reschedule my birthday plans with friends but I still felt celebrated. On my thirty-first birthday, my wife took me to the beach where I read Kai Cheng Thom’s Falling Back in Love with Being Human: Letters to Lost Souls and felt like a little kid playing in the water with her.

I’m proud of who I’ve become but I’m also proud because this year I feel like I’ve done some work of rebecoming who I was. Finding joy in things I’ve forgotten, reconnecting with old friends, openly loving things I’d decided I couldn’t enjoy for whatever reason. Because it wasn't cool. Because it wasn't "good for me."

Life is flying by. If I close my eyes, I can still remember my the air on my twenty first birthday, waking up in Mombasa and traveling to Lamu with an American woman named Mary Grace who I haven’t spoken to in nine and a half years. I remember I didn’t drink on my twenty first because I was on a Muslim island, but a night or two later, we were on a boat off the coast, it must have been the Indian Ocean right? and I was offered a beer, but I can’t remember if I took it or not. I can’t remember the names of the people whose house I stayed in but I remember the food they cooked us was so delicious, potatoes, spices. I’ll have to find my notebook from that trip; I guess this is why I write things down.