Happy Birthday To Me

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So, my birthday was Tuesday. I turned 30. It was probably the best day I’ve had in a long, long time and not because it was anything spectacular and over done. It was really just a normal day with a few “Happy Birthday’s” and a dinner at Longhorn thrown into the mix.

(Oh, and the Hunger Games trilogy courtesy of my husband who knows the way to my heart is probably through books.)

Sometimes I catch myself thinking “I’m 30? No way. I mean, I just turned 20 yesterday, right?” As I’ve looked toward my birthday over the past weeks, I’ve been kind of blown away by how packed with everything my 20s were. Seriously. My 20s were stuffed with…stuff.

At 20, I was living in my college town, on my own, supporting myself and doing okay.

At 21, I bought my first house, all on my own and sold it three years later.

I admitted to and sought treatment for clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder. I kicked its ass.

I experienced a bank robbery first-hand.

I graduated college. Twice. Once at 24 and again at 26.

I got married two weeks after the first graduation. I had a baby about eight months after the second.

I battled postpartum depression and anxiety. I kicked their asses, too.

I traveled to Mexico on my honeymoon, and even though it was to a resort, it was a stamp in my passport.

Oh yeah. I got a passport.

I settled into my career and hit my stride as an educator.

I got the most kick-ass part-time dream job ever writing about television.

There were parties and trips with friends. There was our family vacation last September.

Memories were made.

But there are more memories to make, and I started my fourth decade by making them with Joshua and Dan. (And New Girl was there, too, because where I go, she goes.)

I spent Tuesday really in-the-moment and aware of my life and I realized that life? Is pretty freaking good, y’all.

Here’s to my fourth decade and all the memories to be made.