turning.

i'm sitting in the office of our new home and i'm looking at a window framed in wood from 1924. to my right, atop ikea locker shelves, sits the plant i've had since i was 4. it's still potted in the pink, ribbed pot i chose to match my new bedroom wallpaper when i was 12. wallpaper that was nursery stripes on the bottom half, flowers on the top. pink was the theme.

pink.

my niece's favorite color is pink. if she's wearing a blue shirt and you ask her what color it is, she'll tell you it's pink. i was amazed at this one time because i was wearing a pink shirt. and i said, "hey, eden, what color is this?" when she said, "pink" i nearly died. until my sister told me it's the only color she knows. her favorite.

my sister. my baby sister. has a baby. she's married and working and beautiful and has an almost 2-year-old child. this isn't how i'd imagined things to turn out when i was 12 in my pink bedroom dreaming up my future.

i thought i'd be the first one to have a baby. and that my brother and sister would follow accordingly. i figured we'd all live in the same city, in the same neighborhood with the same type of families. i thought my parents would still live in the house in brookside and that we'd visit there often. i probably figured it would even be within walking distance from where we all chose to land.

without stating the obvious, that didn't happen. and even though i had landed at 22, i hadn't ever taken off my seat belt and felt free to move about the cabin. so i uprooted myself and landed again. this time, much more comfortably but also, much farther from where i'd imagined. i'm turning 30 in november. i don't have a baby. i'm not married. i don't even have a job. and sometimes, the happiest place i can be is on my screened-in porch with a glass of my favorite wine and a memoir by someone like david sedaris or elizabeth giblert. just me and the sound of autumn's leaves blowing in a crisp wind. one so crisp, it requires a hoodie and socks. and even though my bare feet aren't used to being covered, they're suddenly thankful for the enveloping warmth.

so i'm turning 30. and i'm thinking about where i am. and where i was. and who i am. and who i was. and who i WANT to be. and who i can be. and who god thinks i am. and who i think i am. and who brad knows i am. and who my friends know i am. and all of these "ams" are just waiting for me to recognize them. to claim them. and then, to propel forward, moving -- soaring into my next decade. one that has so much potential. unlimited, exciting, potential. and so, i embrace it.