they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009


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.


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.


  • At 8:41 PM, Anonymous Sarah St. said…

    Hey, you've still got over a month. Don't waste all your deep 30 thoughts yet :)

  • At 8:48 PM, Blogger Pensive Girl said…

    oh, sarah. if i don't think them now, i never will. ha ha ha.

    see you tomorrow :)

  • At 8:58 PM, Blogger Spyder said…

    Who you are? You're a beloved child of God! That's pretty darn special. In January I'll be 53. I've accepted that I won't have 2 legged children. But the 4 legged ones are great!

  • At 9:39 PM, Blogger J said…

    I'm thinking them and I still have a year to go.


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