Becoming

I like this word. It means turning into something or attractive (related, I imagine, to comely).

Tomorrow, I am becoming more of a 30-something. What this means is that I have to own my 30s--the first dreaded decade for women everywhere.

My sister said turning 30 was a relief. She said that she felt even better about herself upon turning 40. My sister is a freak of nature. She has 5 children, runs marathons, is an EMT (essentially for fun), and bakes like friggin' Martha Stewart. I'm not sure we're related.

I have assumed the outer appearance of someone who is plenty fine with being 30 (tomorrow 31). I know I don't "look my age"--whatever that means. The reality is I'm becoming concerned about my reality. What if I can't lose the last 10 pounds? What if I never finish my dissertation? (I guess I'd have to start it first.) What if I end up just another crazy cat lady whose house smells like tuna?

What I'm becoming is someone who can't use my 20s as an excuse for not eating right, not having a career, and not being married with children. Now that I'm 30--in my 30s--the excuses seem just that, excuses.

Normal people make resolutions on New Years' Day. As it's been previously ascertained, I'm not normal. My birthday has often been the day of reckoning, the day to evaluate or reevalute who I am and what I'm about. This year I've been thinking about what I'm becoming. I'm doing what I love (educating the future of America) and working on my PhD. I own a house with DMP (dear mortgage partner or damned mortgage partner--depends on the day). I have family, friends, and pets that love and nurture me. But sometimes I don't feel any stronger or smarter than the naive 21-year-old who moved here 9 years ago. So where does this leave me?

I'd like to think that we never stop becoming something. So for this year, I'll strive to keep on becoming whatever it is I'm meant to be. And I'll try to be ok with not knowing what that means exactly.