It’s my birthday. I have to clean the house and go shopping and do some interviews. Grown up! Tonight we’re going to dinner in San Francisco. I may or may not wear my new dress.

My main problem with all this birthday stuff is that my 20s are now over. They are in the past, a historical period of my life, no longer an ongoing thing. It seems impossible that I have lived 30 years, that I have aged enough that my body is showing signs of age–tiny signs, but signs nevertheless–and that if this were medieval times, my life expectancy would be about up.

But whatever. I did what I did in my 20s. I didn’t waste that much time; I accomplished stuff. I got married and published and earned two degrees and visited seven countries and 19 states and ate a lot of good food. I made friends, moved 10 times, owned 4 cars, and one cat. I worked as a reporter, a waitress, a sales clerk, a dish washer, an editor, a teacher, a secretary, a medical receptionist, a mail clerk, a delivery driver, and a website designer. I climbed several (small) mountains and interviewed celebrities. I saw wonders of nature, skies filled with shooting stars, large colorful holes in the ground. I visited most of the major museums of Europe and saw most of the wonders of the Western cultural world. I was given Kyle. I started my own business, of sorts.

And I learned a lot. In fact, my 20s may have been more about learning than anything else.

Honestly, now that I think about it, the only thing that really bothers me is that I didn’t publish a book in my 20s.

Crap.

I had planned to do that. Hmmmm ….

Oh well.

Me Age 20.

(I am holding money in the second picture because my parents had just given me some cash to spend on a trip to Washington DC. )