So maybe I had a stage five freakout at the stroke of my 30th birthday, but after the swollen eyes and hysteria subsided, I was actually rather okay about leaving my 20s behind in the dusty cloud of uncertainty that they were.

I had just gotten married and it seemed life was kind of coming together—not that I ever needed it to, but it was a nice surprise. I mean, for a surprise. Cus, eew.

I was scared of thirty, but I had my first gray hair at 28, so I wasn't really sure what THIRTY proper could do to me. Cellulite? I might have already had a dimple or two. Tired by 10pm? I’m already almost fast asleep as I type this. Recovery time from a glass of wine? 1.5 days, three bowls of rice, a Friends marathon, and a gallon of water. Shopping in the "women's department?" Wait a friggen minute.

It's still not entirely clear what was happening in this picture. One armed jumping jack? Praising Jesus? Tanning the back of my hand? Just living the dream?

I guess scared wasn't the right term. I wasn't scared of thirty.

I'm scared of plummeting to earth in a burning airplane. I'm scared that I'll wake up and I'll find an earwig on my pillow. I'm scared I'll accidentally bite into a sandwich that has mayonnaise on it.

I'm not scared of a number. But I wasn't exactly thrilled about the whole "middle aged" thing, which has all sorts of dreaded consequences like having to bring your own dish to pass and no longer being able to sign your name on your parent's gift. The whole idea of being middle aged is creepy. Do I have to chop my hair above the shoulder? Do I need to adopt 4 kids, STAT? When you turn on my TV will HGTV always appear? Wait. Ok, never mind.

Middle aged is a constant reminder that hey, you're life is half over, you've done crap so far and maybe you should accomplish something. If you were looking for sunshiny-yoga-life-is-beautiful blogging, you made a wrong turn somewhere. Life is beautiful. But it's short. The end.

My contradictions run deep.

I love having roots and stability in the form a house and family around. And friends? Don't even THINK about moving away unless you want me to loathe you for all eternity and send you regular texts about how you sucked all the fun out of life and ruined everything.

But the idea of a settled life also makes me all claustrophobic and itchy. After getting married and then bombarded with all these health issues, I found myself retreating and going into isolation. I would get depressed thinking about all the things I did in my 20s like, "Were those the best years of my life?" "Will these always be the days I think back on with that sad nostalgic smile?"

So I decided the answer to that was going to be NO. If there's anything that uncovering health issues will make you want to do, it's carpe the crap out of the diem.

So in summary, this year:

I quit office jobs for good, said goodbye to horrendous fluorescent lighting that sucked the ever-loving life and creativity out of me and transitioned into full time wedding photography.

I decided I was going to get over my fear of flying and break my ten year streak of plane avoidance and go on a trip. Which I did, to California to photograph a vow renewal for some friends that moved away and fall into the "loathe for all eternity" category. But, they asked nicely, so.

I also got my first tattoo. And it's crazy and colorful and much bigger than you think it is. It says Delicious Ambiguity, which is in fact, my favorite phrase of all time and sums up how I feel about this unpredictable life of ours. And all you people are babies, by the way. Try getting laser hair removal then talk to me about pain.

I made my health a priority and found a doctor that can hopefully help me dig myself out of this horrendous mess.

I started blogging again, and although I've gotten off to a rocky start with the hectic wedding season, I'm glad to be back amongst the virtual champions of thought cultivation.

I Guess I'm Thirty-Three... Which Is Basically Forty.

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