Hard to believe I'm turning thirty-three this year...or is it thirty-two? I forget. Seriously, I stopped keeping track after thirty. I've always feared the thirty-something years. I imagined it to be the beginning of the end. The beginning of "old age", which I've oddly felt since my twenties but is now validated when I see grown kids with birth year in the 2000's. I see my friends settling down with kids, talking lactation and sleep schedules, and it scares me. I'm not there yet and that's scary, too. To my surprise, though, thirty-three is less scary in real life. It seems to be the magic number where self understanding has allowed my insecurities and confidence to harmonize in a way that is liberating. Unlike the growth spurts from the first two decades, now is a time for me to really settle into my true self, to know and accept - and embrace- where I am and who I am. To unchain myself from a timeline of goals I've used as a life map before even knowing much about life at all. Discovering a passion for photography reminds me that it's never too late to stop learning or redefining oneself. So when asked the above question at a Kit and Ace event, I've never been more sure, or proud, or scared, to declare myself a photographer. But now that I've said, it feels damn good! Here's to another year, to another chance at doing something that'll scare the shit out of me.
Keeping with tradition, birthday self portraits are obligatory.
Many thanks to friends and love ones for greeting me with your warm birthday wishes today.
Today last year, I blew my birthday candles wishing for a baby. I didn’t think I’d be so lucky or so lucky so soon. But within weeks of my wish, I learned I was expecting Allie. Needless to say, thirty-six was a very special year. Allie not only gave me the gift of motherhood but she helped me feel joy again - pure and unadulterated joy that I had lost after my Dad’s passing.