Ravin's Ramblings

Thirty, huh? I contemplate my impending decrepit state fast approaching in the next few minutes. I think back on other milestone birthdays. 10, I had an ice cream cake with a little mint green clad clown on the top. I can remember being little and making the 20 mile drive with my mother to the bakery in Maquoketa where I would stare at a wall of delightful confections and pick out one that wasn’t too expensive or too plain. I loved birthday cakes that came from the bakery. Those were extra special because not every birthday cake did. Not when money needed to be spent on more important things.

13, I had fallen asleep on the floor of my sister’s pink bedroom and sometime in the night had been relocated to my own bed. I was so sure when I woke in the morning I would look like a teenager. My thin, stringy, fly away hair would have turned into a beautiful mane of silken tresses. My scrawny, colt-like limbs would be transformed overnight into the beginnings of womanly curves. When I awoke the next morning I sprang from bed and dashed to the mirror to take my first excited glance. To my disappointment nothing much had changed about my appearance except for a few pillow wrinkles and some bed head.

By the time I turned 16, I knew not to expect dramatic changes overnight. But still, I held on to the hope that age 16 would turn my unremarkable face into that of a great beauty. This had been a magic number as long as I could remember. At 16 I was allowed to have a boyfriend, I was allowed to date and not just go out in gaggles of awkward teenage peers. I was allowed to drive. I was allowed to experience freedoms I had not previously known. Much to my chagrin; that same unremarkable face I’d had at 14 remained until I was about 18 years of age. And that exciting love life I’d been promised…well, I quickly learned that there wasn’t much difference between being alone with an awkward teenage boy or being out in a gaggle of awkward teenage girls and boys. That in fact, sometimes the gaggle was much preferred.

Then there was 18. Jaded by non-instantaneous arrival of breasts for my 13^th birthday, and the stunningly average face that still stared back from my reflection I didn’t really have high hopes for 18. I do remember awaking with a quiet sense of satisfaction. I was an adult. My best friend and I celebrated by getting tattoos. I don’t remember if we’d spent long hours planning it or if it had been a whim. But I do remember her shaking and holding my hand, knuckles white, as the needle skidded over her hip bone and at that moment deciding I was not nearly as brave as she. I got mine on my ankle instead.

21? I don’t remember much about my 21^st birthday. I have a few fuzzy memories of outlandish dancing, groping my best friend on a dare, and my sister, the supposed DD, driving down the wrong side of the street and having to jump the median. I don’t remember particularly looking forward to 21 though. Perhaps I did when I was 19, but by the time I turned 21, I didn’t really find going out drinking all that fun anymore.

25 was hard. That was half way to 50. I remember telling my sister (and believing it) that there was nothing to look forward to after 25 until you turned 60. My insurance rates went down at 25. And I remember looking at pictures of me when I was 21 and thinking (and believing) that youth was wasted on the young. I’d never approved of my body, or thought of myself as particularly attractive. I was a fool. I only lacked self confidence.

Now, in just a few minutes I will be 30. One foot in the grave, really. Oh, I don’t mind much. I don’t honestly think my breasts will shrivel up and fall off at the stroke of midnight or that my face will crack into a million wrinkles (even though my younger friends assure me of this certainty). My best friend from back home asked me if I thought I would cry. I don’t think I will. It would be different if I weren’t so happy with where I am right now. Luckily, I am blessed. I have a wonderful husband, an amazing son, and more family than I know what to do with. I have accomplished a lot in terms of career, family, and religion. I’m quite satisfied with my life. So tomorrow, when I wake up…I don’t think I’ll look for signs of decrepitude. Instead, I think I’ll be productive, and take my son for a walk to the park, and go visit my family, and thank God for thirty years of blessings.