At 30 and a Half.

Yesterday marked my half-birthday. I realize most people stop counting their “half” ages at about ten or so, and I don’t usually make it a habit to keep track of these sorts of events but I deemed yesterday a special occasion, for it marked the first half of my 30th year. (It also meant I had six months until I turned 31(!) but I didn’t focus on that part.)

So, here I am, six months into the third decade of my life.

Whenever a bit of good fortune comes my way, I’m often a bit hesitant to write – or, at times, even speak – about it. Perhaps it’s the ghost of our Puritan forefathers or just a case of nerves, but I always fear that the minute I announce a positive the God in charge of such things will counter with a negative. You know how it goes. The moment you think you’ve got everything figured out is the minute something will change. So, with bated breath and fingers crossed, I’d like to say that things in my life are pretty great these days.

Here Is A Truth:

Four years ago, I took what is probably the biggest leap of my life thus far when I moved to New York City. It was a jump that I was utterly petrified to make, but one that I was even more frightened not to. To put it mildly, when I took that step into the complete unknown, things did not unfold exactly as I had imagined. Looking back, I probably should have guessed this – best laid plans, right? Still, I thought I had dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s diligently enough that all would go as I thought it should. After all, I. had. a. plan!

Here Is Another Truth:

Though I only stayed in New York for 13 months, a good portion of the past four years were difficult for me. This is certainly not to say I haven’t also captured some pretty fabulous, amazing moments that I’m happily carrying around in my heart for the rest of my life, but when the things I had planned for, counted on, and anticipated fell apart? Well, in a strange sense I felt like I’d been abandoned all alone on a mountaintop and I lacked the necessary equipment for survival. Frankly, I was ill-prepared. Without any sort of plan at all.

At times I didn’t know where to lean or what to do. What used to seem like the simplest task suddenly stressed me out or left me feeling alone and helpless. I knew I needed to find a way out of the mess, a chance to get my head above water. I needed a NEW plan, I just didn't know how to make it.

Another Truth:

I was hard on myself. Often. I cursed my formally impenetrable plan; I wondered how I hadn’t seen that coming.

Deep down I knew I needed time, but I also desperately wanted someone to toss me a damn flashlight so I could find my way out of this sticky, dark mess I’d landed in. After plenty of people tossed in their flashlights, rope ladders, and walkie-talkies, I thought my floundering time should be up - that I'd hit my limit and should now be okay, good as new, reporting that all’s well.

In my new, fly-by-the-seat of my pants plan I’d given myself a window of "sussing life out" time. I had forgotten to plan for the fact that I might not have allotted enough of it.

And Another One:

It did not happen overnight. There wasn’t one specific morning when I awoke to a parting of the clouds and birds chirping, aware and sure that all my troubles were behind me. But. There were friends who kept reaching out, asking me – of all people – for advice and confidences. There were Moms, Dads and Brothers who listened to suggestions I had, took them to heart, even if it was a simple idea about the wording of a letter or a gift to a friend. There was a Grandmother who sent me card after sweet note in the mail, reminding me how much I was loved. It took a lot of time - more than I wanted. But gradually, I started feeling better. And lately, I've found myself in a lovely, strong, encouraged spot. I like it here.

Sometimes, even if you think you know something, it is nice to be reminded. Again. People love you, for you. Despite – or maybe because of – my mislaid plans or ideas that seem great at the time or that fact that I’m, well, human.

The other night I went out to dinner with a friend. She and I were reminiscing about our first “date” as friends. She told me, that night, after our first “dinner date” she went home and told her husband, “I hope Kelli is in my life for a very long time.”

That is a nice truth.

A Final Truth:

I like to think I’ve had this strength, these ideals, this keep going attitude all of my life. For a few years it got lost, buried, and bruised. Not only did I need time, but I needed a lot of solitary moments to sit and think and try to understand. I needed to reflect on some of the things I'd set my mind to and that I’d achieved in my first 30 years. And perhaps, most of all, I needed to understand that plans get changed; that I would do well to remember the Marine Corps adage of: Improvise, Adapt and Overcome.

I am not perfect, neither is my life. I’d be willing to bet that the plans I am formulating now will veer off path as soon as I say them out loud. And yet I’m not quite as worried or scared about that anymore. I do not welcome trouble, heartache, illness, or stress into my life or the lives of those I love. But those evils, those bad times, may appear. They always do. So in the meantime, I am keeping the faith, pulling out that strength I have buried inside me, and I’m not giving up.

I’m letting life happen instead of just planning for it.

And, I’m having quite a bit of fun along the way as well.