I have delayed starting this blog for the sole reason that I could not think of the perfect title.
Titling is so daunting. So permanent. The problem I have with titling is twofold. First, how to sum up the complexity and simplicity of my musings and intentions in just a few words–a catchy phrase but not cheap, something thoughtful, artful, memorable, easy to spell, easy to find, and not taken? The solution–choose a single word. Phrases are so limiting, restricting.
Second: What are my musings? What are my intentions?
In the creative world, most are likely familiar with the handy term, “working title.” The “working title” has always been my best friend because I have constantly struggled with knowing just what it is I am trying to say until once I have said it. In the internet world, this luxury is just not possible.
So the questions remain, what am I really? and what am I trying to convey, and why, and to whom?
The first thing you would not expect to hear in a personal introduction is age. However, allow me to quite relevantly reveal to you that I am thirty years old. It took me over half of my thirtieth year of life to discover exactly what it means to be “a woman in her 30s.” I didn’t even know that this was a thing, until I started seeing advertisements, reprints, and knock-offs of this book, which is really just a silly list. Now wait, don’t read the silly list. I have all the insight right here on what it means to be “a woman in her 30’s.” Are you ready?
it means absolutely nothing.
When I was 28 and 29 some friends asked me on occasion what it would feel like to turn 30, and the thought did not frighten me. “It’s just a number,” I told myself. In fact, a year-and-a-half ago I was already telling people that I was “basically 30” and I felt as though 29 were a wasted year. When the day came, I can’t say that it went exactly as I’d imagined. I also don’t think I had any of the stereotypical reactions (whatever those are). When I turned 30, I had two simultaneous thoughts: How did this happen so fast? And I’m now 100% adult. There are no more excuses. I need to get it together.
Wait a second. Hold it right there. This is when my logical, analytical objectivity comes in: What does it mean to “have it together,” anyways?
Does “it” even exist? Or is “it” all about appearances? Do I even want that???
…and thus I maintain the opinion I held long before ever arriving at 30:
It really is no big deal.
It’s so nice to meet you. I can’t wait to start cooking together!