On turning the "Dirty Thirty".

Today I woke up a new person.

Ok, maybe not entirely "new" but perhaps a bit more hopeful than I was just yesterday.

Today, February 14th, 2008 is my thirtieth birthday. So I'm wondering, does this mean I am actually an adult now? Am I required to always uphold my end of the conversation from this point forward? More than that, is there a difference between growing up and just growing older?

Man, that's deep for first thing in the morning.

Looking back, my twenties were fun but kind of a mess. But not for the interesting and tawdry reasons that you (and I, really) would both hope for. I didn't have nearly as many relationships as I wanted. I thought way too much about things instead of just diving right in and taking the big, scary risk. I also beat myself up and held myself to way too many unrealistic expectations. See? A mess of trying to achieve perfection and always playing it safe. And all that led to was a lot of unhappiness and regret.

To that, I say no more.

A short two decades ago, when I was about 10-years-old, I was so completely psyched about myself. It didn't matter that I had buck teeth and a little lisp and I rocked a Snorks lunch box. It also didn't matter that I never remembered the right school books for my homework or that I always ran late and missed the damn bus. Despite all of these little "shortcomings", I acted and felt like I was queen of the 4th grade world. Yes, life was simpler. Tuesday meant pizza day in the cafeteria and it was a given that I would always play at my best friend Karen's house after school. We'd make up dance routines to Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" and Janet Jackson's "Black Cat". Flailing around the room in our cheesy 80's sweaters, pin-tucked jeans and our hair in side ponytails, we treated our routines as if they'd land us on Star Search one day. "You have to land that turn," we'd say to each other. "The routine depends on it."

But never, when we passed a mirror while dancing, would we pick out the things we did not like about ourselves or our bodies. And never when we invited our Moms to watch our routines did we, after completing the dance, apologize for something we messed up on. Good or bad, we liked ourselves the next day. We knew better. We did not base our worth on what we looked like or what we accomplished but on who we were. More than that, who ever that person was we did not apologize for it.

Could we all be getting it wrong right now? Instead of growing up, are we just moving farther away from the point of why we are here? At ten-years-old, I am pretty near sure that I knew everything I needed to succeed in life. Be a good friend. Have fun. Don't worry. Smile. Most of all, be nice to yourself. Because really, why wouldn't you be? At ten, I was more grown up than I am today.

Instead of just growing older each year we should, instead, grow closer to the child we once were. Why not like who we are? What we look like? How we wowed them all on the playground when we hung upside down on the monkey bars for a whole lunch hour? Amazing!

We are all still the children we once were. We might have bank accounts and cars and mortgages, mind you, but we are still just children trying to grow and learn and have some fun along the way.

Today I am letting myself off the hook for everything I regretted doing in my last thirty years. But most of all, I am forgiving myself for everything I didn't have the guts to do. I am honoring my birthday by remembering the little girl who, despite growing taller and losing her lisp, never really went away. And I'm so glad she didn't.