A-ha! 30. You are so mine.

Photo by Karen Walrond.

Hello.

Have you seen me lately?  Have you talked to me lately? Have you smelled my aura lately?

Yup. By golly, they’re all sprayin’ and emittin’ the same thing.

I. Am. So. Happy.

Around my 30th birthday, things got messy.  Okay, let’s be honest. Shit hit the fan.  Wonderful women a few years my senior were telling me, “30 was the best year of my life.” But I wasn’t seeing it or feeling it.  I thought, “Dammit to hell, 30 sucks!”

But there’s something that comes with getting older, you know. It’s called wisdom.

I began to realize that 30 was turning out to be a massive disappointment because I let it be so.  I LET IT BE SO.  It was my fault.  I allowed my 30th year to progress in a sucky way. Therefore, it was my responsibility to take back 30, and fucking fix it.

And damn skippy, I did.

It’s March. I’ve been 30 since October. I am happy. Very happy. So, so very happy. My life in all respects is great. No, no, not just great. Fantastic! Amazing! Fabulous! Phenomenal!  Astounding! Terrific! And it’s taken me this long to shout it from the rooftops simply because I’ve been too busy.  Too busy being happy.

It’s been years since I’ve been this happy.  Wait.  Have I ever been this happy?  It’s not quite clear.  The happiness is clouding my vision.  And I’m not turning the misery windshield wipers on.

While I’d love to dote on the science behind why I wasn’t happy and how it came to evolve that I was happy, truthfully, I’d rather focus my happiness-blurred vision on the present than fixate on the past.  Because the here, the now makes me happy.  Genuinely happy.  And I’m gonna roll with it.