Becoming Thirty

Today is my last day to be 29.  The last day of my 20s.

My 20s. In the last decade, I have met and worked for Hillary Clinton, I have gained and lost the same pesky 15 pounds, I have held more than six different jobs, I have been in love three times and married my best friend and man of my dreams, I have made friends with professors, bankers, interns, and rogues, I have traveled to Great Britain twice, I have lived in the Snow Belt and on the beach, I have adopted three cats, I have lost and found my way to God, I have raised money and lost money, and along the way, I have written about 1,000 pages of ... stuff.

I've been bravely telling everyone (not really everyone, only those nosy enough to ask how I feel about turning 30) that I'm better at 30 than I ever was at 20-anything.

I like to think that's true. But in reality, I think I'm still me, much the same as I was at 20-everything. The real difference, I think, is that I have found my voice and I am becoming the writer I've always been.