So I turned 28 last month. Yup, 30 is just around the corner. And actually, I’m thrilled. You heard me right. I am loving this season of life. Last night I watched 13 Going on 30 and it only confirmed again that I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to be 13 again, or 17 or even 21. My tumultuous adolescence is behind me and this past year I shook the proverbial sand of those years off my shoes and embarked on a new era.

More than one person has told me that 30 was a major turning point for them. The puzzle pieces just seemed to fall into place. No, they didn’t have the answers to life but they did have peace about not having those answers. Well, I think my puzzle came together over the past year and rather than waking up one day and realizing that something had changed, the difference dawned on me slowly over the past few months. If I were to get a tattoo tomorrow it might say something like, “I am who I am”. Funny that it took me nearly 27 years to discover that truth and then to begin leaning into it, breathing deeply the assurance that comes with knowing that who I am is enough. Maybe even more than enough. I am loved by the Creator, unconditionally, just as I am. That’s enough, more than enough. The love that is lavished on me by my family and friends is like icing on the cake. It brings tears to my eyes to think of how blessed I am to receive such a daily outpouring of love. But it is also incredibly comforting to know that if I somehow lost all of it, I would still be held in the arms of Someone Greater. What more can I ask for? Nothing. Nothing more than this.

With this discovery, and many more revelations than I can possibly write here, I have learned to care a little better for me. To say no. To set boundaries. I’m working on being still and listening, really listening before opening my own mouth. (Granted, I am definitely still learning this practice because there are too many moments to count where I talk before I should.) Here’s an example of my new found maturity: this past weekend we had a birthday dinner with friends scheduled for Saturday night and I was supposed to get together for lunch with a good friend that morning. A year or two ago I would have powered through the nasty cold I had and simply hosted the event and attended the lunch. Yes, I probably would have been miserable but for some reason I would have felt it necessary, imperative to fulfill those commitments. As hard as it was to decline the luncheon and call up all our friends to cancel the dinner, I did it and afterwards there was such relief. I could curl up in my sweats and nurse my cold. I could nap all afternoon and drink gallons of tea with honey and lemon. I left my house only once this weekend, for groceries. This may not seem that incredible to you dear reader, but for me this was a small milestone. I said no. I backed out of plans. Unheard of for me. Slowing my pace of life has become very important because running at full speed means that so many of the little moments are lost in the blur.

Last weekend, while on a brief get-away with B, I forgot my phone at home. There was definitely panic. A lot of panic actually in the airport when I realized that I had left my life sitting on my desk at work in my rush to get out the door. So now I have an entire weekend undocumented by photos or social media. I’m still a little sad that I don’t have any pictures from the weekend but after the initial heart attack, I actually really loved being phone-less (and internet-less). Luckily I was in my hometown of Portland so I didn’t feel crippled without my handy Google maps app. B pointed out that since I am usually on my phone twice as much as he is, it was nice to have my undivided attention. (he said this in the most loving way possible and it was a good reminder that people are SO much more important than technology) I came back from that trip and haven’t felt nearly as pressed to be online 24/7. Perhaps this is another lesson in living life by being present for the moments occurring all around me and if I spend most of my time staring at a screen then I miss those extraordinarily modest, every day happenings that unfold and vanish in the blink of an eye.

So welcome 28th year. I look forward to all that you hold. And welcome to whatever this is, growing up? maturity? self-realization? or maybe just a settling in.

Welcome home me to myself…and the voice inside me whispers “we’ve been waiting for you to return to yourself. we’re so glad you are finally here.”