Almost a year ago, I welcomed you with cupcakes, anticipation and a big box of thoughtful gifts from friends. Although I was disappointed to leave many unmet goals and dreams behind in my 20s, you gave me hope. You were a round, decisive age in which anything could happen, and you felt a lot younger and fresher than I had anticipated. With you, I was finally going to bloom and break out of the roles that I'd spent my 20s trying to force myself into. I felt expectant, and knew I was on the verge of some sort of big change.
I never could have imagined the form that change would take. It was the opposite of what I had hoped for. I expected new fulfillment and new commitments, and instead I lost the commitment I had and the entire future I had planned. I was ripped out of my life by the roots and transplanted to entirely new soil. Although I feel more myself now than I ever have, it only happened because I had to either bloom or die. I have to re-make that choice every day.
30, you will go down in my personal infamy alongside fifth grade and the horrible sophomore semester of 1999. You have been the hardest year of my life, but also the year when I really began to live.