Calm.

And for no good goddamned reason other than I think I fit better in my skin than ever before. I'm starting to see the upshot of 30:

1. I'm getting recognition at work, and not because I'm running around doing flips and handstands, but because I've done good work for more than three years. People are noticing that.

2. I'm getting better at saying no to the things that require more of me than I'm willing to give and I'm also learning to say yes when people offer to help.

3. I've heard from two of my best, oldest students who have moved on in the world, one of whom hit the ground running reporting for a tiny newspaper in a desert town between LA and Vegas. I taught him everything he knows about practicing journalism and he's wowing them already. He's delighted and so am I, especially that I'm the person he wants to call to share his first war stories with.

The other student called me from France because she's been thinking about me, but more importantly, because she got a proposal to begin a love affair and I was the only person with whom she felt she could talk about it. We decided that yes, yes indeed, she should take this lover. She's over there teaching English, and she's been using teaching techniques she picked up in the classes I taught her.

How gratifying is that? Teachers don't often see the fruits of their labor, but there's nothing more satisfying than knowing you've affected people, changed them for the better just by doing what you do. Granted, I gave a little extra to these two--because I believed in them, but also because they gave a hell of a lot back. Obviously, they're still giving. . . .

I love knowing I've made the right choices.

4. I am taking damn good care of myself. Have I mentioned that I bought a juicer and a yogurt maker and have gone almost exclusively organic? I eat very, very little wheat, corn and alcohol, practically no sugar or pork, and damn if I am not feeling healthy. I've learned to accept that it may take Herculean efforts for me to feel good, but it's worth whatever it takes.

5. One word: Bodyjam. It might at first glance sound like some icky stuff you might remove from between your toes, but it's actually a newish class they're offering at my gym. Think club, think sober, think choreography, think hot, think latinhiphopcontemporarymodernfunk, think 900 calories burned an hour. It's the highlight of my week. I just don't go dancing often enough . . . now I get to dance my ass off instead of begrudgingly toiling away on some cardio machine. Next they'll be offering sex classes. No way it could get more fun. I'ma start wearing sparkles to the gym.


And all the other bullshit annoyances in my life pale in light of those things. At least for the moment. So, I thought I'd bask in the glory of that moment while it lasts.

Happy Samhain--it's New Year's eve for all you pagans out there: live it up. I'll be discussing Toni Morrison and Alice Walker instead of trick-or-treating, but I'll do my annual ritual when I get home: Slice an apple in half, concentrate all the negativity, bullshit, sorrows, disappointments, rage from the past year into those two apple halves. Place them back together and bury them. Voila! Happy, brand New Year!

No more wah-wahs.

And I didn't even need someone to slap me. I can allow myself a little self pity every now and then, as long as it doesn't last any more than a day or two.

So today I snapped out of the birthday funk, which is not to say that I can promise not to slip back into it at some point(s) during the next month or so.

I spent a little time thinking about what has transpired since the last time Nov. 24 rolled around. This made me feel better. Here goes:

I've done lots of travelling. From San Francisco for my last birthday to Boston, New York and Philly in December to reconnect with U2, my peoples, and my craft out East to Texas for Chri-mas to Dublin for spring break to Prague, Budapest, Croatia, Bosnia, Italy, France for the summer and next back to Boston and Philly for my annual pilgrimage. That's a lot of miles.

I made money enough to fund most of that and put some away for retirement, because as morbid as I can get about cancer and whatever else might kill me, I do expect to live a while.

I got through three--almost four--semesters of my PhD. That ain't nothing.

I've made friends, I've reconnected with past friends and lovers, met interesting people galore, expanded my world. And that's certainly made me for the better.

I've lifted a lot of weight, run hundreds of miles--including a personal best at the Shamrock Shuffle in Chicago, gotten bronzed and blonde in the South of France, lost a few pounds, gained a few back, lost them again, cut and colored my hair like a rock star and brought it back to plain old me.

I've published a good armful of articles, some of which I hear have moved people.

I've made progress on my book--who knows how much exactly, but it's looking like a few chapters, anyway. Plugging away.

I've sat plenty of hours on my therapist's couch--crying, laughing, questioning, complaining, ranting--growing wiser about myself as best I can.

I taught more than 100 students, hopefully, how to write better and think differently about themselves as creators.

I saw the face of God.

I haven't solved any real problems--my own, anyone else's, the world's. But I am carving out a path for myself in this here life: stumbling, tripping over my own feet, gliding, running, flying, trudging. It's all there.

I guess I can look forward to what I'll make of 30. I trust myself to do it right.

And I can always return to the South of France in my mind. . . .

It's official.

One month from today I'll turn 30.

Yuck.

I don't take birthdays well.

It's some combo of having been spoiled as a child on that day every year with great parties, extravagant gifts and generally being treated like the center of the universe+the gravity of having had cancer twelve years ago, hence the overwhelming feeling of gratitude that washes over me on the 24th of November+the fact that my life feels like it's at a standstill--PhD in progress, other two full time jobs in progress, freelancing in progress, yet somehow I feel like I'm spinning my wheels+no significant romantic relationship in sight+anxiety about all the things in my life I can't control+living in a beautiful house in a go-nowhere town albeit filled with lovely people I adore even though I have absolutely no time to spend with them+the usual financial stresses+aging and the unknown (besides a nasty fight with an underactive thyroid that gets progressively worse and harder to diagnose/treat) illnesses I am likely to develop prematurely because I underwent chemo and radiation 12 years ago+I still have goddamn acne and now I also have wrinkles+the guilt of occupying myself with such trifles instead of just practicing the aforementioned gratitude.

But really, who cares? I mean, what's another fucking birthday? I'm all for aging gracefully, aren't you?

Have I mentioned I've decided to boycott all holidays this year?

Meh. I probably just need to go dancing and get rip-roaring drunk. Then I'll forget about all of it--at least for a few hours. . . .

I wish a brand new blue bicycle with a red ribbon could salvage this day, or that I could just put it out of my mind until the day actually comes and then just blow it off. But when have you known me to take anything lightly?

Wanna blow your mind?

Then give yourself 50 minutes, watch this with an open mind and ask yourself, "What if it's true?"

I'm very curious to hear your thoughts on it. . . .

You are a dancing queen

Weekend recap:

My mama and I drove around the big lake, that's Lake Michigan, through Chicago, through Milwaukee (with lots of annoying traffic stops and starts through those joints) on up to Appleton, Wisconsin for my cousin Sean's wedding.

This was one wedding I did not want to miss. Not because it was a gajillion dollar affair, or a destination wedding or because, ahem, the bride might start a brawl with the dj. No. (In fact, Stacia was a perfect hostess.)

It's because my Seanie and I go way back. Not that we see each other very often, or ever have. It's just that we've been soulmates from the start. I've just always loved that kid. No matter how much he tormented me, teased me or goosed me just to hear me say, "Shaw-awn, stop sticking your fingers in my craw-ock," I adored him. Maybe because he was so damn cute, or maybe it was that impish gleem in his eye (it's still there); perhaps it was that he was always in trouble and I was always trying so hard to be the good girl . . . or maybe it was just that we were the two biggest personalities around. We tend to be less afraid than most of looking like the fools that we are, of being on stage (even when it's your auntie's living room) and of sticking to our stubborn guns about whatever, even when we forget what it was we were so upset about and it wasn't logical to anyone else to begin with.

Most of all, we are kindred spirits in the dance. We have very different styles, both pretty balls out, but man, can we cut a rug. But Seanie, well . . . he's in a category all his own:



And in the end, that's what I have to say for my family--that extended group of people that so often don't get along and have squabbles over silly trifles and annoy each other just because it's what we've always done--no matter what, we can all get out on that dancefloor and boogie. It might not always be pretty, but who cares? We sure have fun. So even when certain members of our group aren't speaking to other members, we can always move through space together, broken funky chickens that we are (unless we park our arses on a bar stool and refuse to move for any reason the entire night--not even an 88-year-old granny's desire to have a photo of all her present grandkids. . . . but that's neither here nor there, is it?)

It's nice to know that you can go home again, and it is in fact wonderful to see the people who have known you the longest and who like being around you.

Congratulations Sean and Stacia, and thanks for the fabalous party!

And it was great seeing Shasta and Carlos, if only for a minute as we swung back through Chicago on the way home!