Well look who managed to make it to 30!
Yeah, I’m now officially entering my third decade on this high-speed space rock, and honestly, I’m glad to be doing so. I know plenty of folks older than me who say that their thirties are some of the best years of their lives, and maybe I’ll be in that camp. Either way, I’m ready for my birthday party to kick off the fall and winter holiday sprint. I’ve always kind of liked that about my birthday. Halloween, though it is my second favorite holiday, may not be celebrated until after my birthday. It’s the appetizer, and everyone knows the appetizers are some of the best things on a menu.
It really doesn’t seem like enough to measure life in something as cold and impersonal as time, at least not to me. My brother died at 17, that seems like almost nothing. There has to be a better measure.
I am reminded of the song “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent (which I have seen live), and with a landmark birthday, it’s kind of interesting to look at how we have measured the years of our lives. In jobs we’ve worked? Vacations taken? Books read? Pandemics survived? (please let that one stay at one) The conclusion of the song is to measure your life in love. But that begs the question, how can you measure your life in love? Love is hard to count. If you, my readers will indulge me, I’d like to share some ways that I measure the love that makes my life.
Love is not something just to be received, it has to be given. I am blessed every day with opportunities to give love to other people. And not just people, my dear cats get loved from toe beans to tail-tip every single day. Love goes beyond the romantic, and as I always say, love is a verb. Love is present in the small things that can be done for someone else every day. In listening and being consistent. In an honest answer and an offer of help. Every bit of love I can give to anyone else makes up the measure of my life, more than any date on the calendar possibly can. I fully admit that I am far from the most loving person in any room, but darn it I try.
How can I measure love and not count the love that is shown to me every day? A grand gesture is great every now and then, but just as important are the daily, consistent little snippets of love. The feeling that someone actively wants to be around me says a great deal. I have the blessing of people who love me, and no matter how much love I give, it can’t tip the scale on the love that I have been given. And it shouldn’t. That’s the big thing, love doesn’t keep score. It doesn’t have to be tit for tat. Which is great, because that would be exhausting.
Finally, and most importantly, I have the immeasurable love of my Creator. Which honestly isn’t fair to put on here because everyone has the same amount, and the amount can’t be measured. That one is on a whole other level, so I won’t dwell on it too long.
Love given, love received, and love infinite. Not a bad way to measure, and not a bad life. If the moon comes crashing out of the sky tomorrow, I’m raising a toast and going out with a smile. The phrase “Thirty, flirty, and thriving” is entirely too I-drink-my-pumpkin-spice-latte-out-of-an-Ugg-boot for me. I’m more of an I-drink-my-black-coffee-out-of-a-combat-boot kind of girly. Maybe the phrase on my silly birthday shirt should be “Thirty, nerdy, and trying.” Because that’s who I am. And I would never want to be anyone else. Getting older isn’t bad, and it sure beats the alternative. I fully intend to (pardon my dismembering of Latin) carpe the diem, the week, the month, and the year. Happy birthday to me, and I hope you have a good day.
Older and hopefully wiser,
Kim
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