Many people, upon hearing I’m 30, tell me, ‘Wow, really, you don’t look it!’ This is intended as a compliment, so let me not vex the intention, but merely its implications. Women are supposed to peak somewhere around 25 and it’s all downhill from there. Of course, the idea of people ‘peaking’ is absurd, as if we had a fixed, gravity-determined route in this life and no other choice but to follow it. Being a 30 year-old woman means you’re past expiration date, while for 30 year old men life is only beginning and they’re free to make fools of themselves dating girls who just got into Uni. This is when stating your age becomes a way to clear such inconsequential fools from your path.
So – hey, world, I’m 30 and not afraid to say it. Otherwise, it’s the usual – I’m further clearing my mind and working toward the person I want to be. Good news – that work never ends. No Elizabeth Gilbert-esque spirituality-lite bullshit here. No preaching. I’m only here to tell you stories. I’m only here to write you poems. The Empress is my birth card, the Fool is my soul, the High Priestess is my goal. It has to do with nothing. It has to do with everything.