Do I get to make a wish on the candles if it's not really my birthday yet?

I often hear older people say that they still feel like a teenager. I wonder at what point in my progression through life will I stop feeling my age and begin to feel like I'm sixteen? The acknowledgment that my body doesn't seem to want to hold its former shape without a little extra coaxing on my part--that I have to actually work to keep the cellulite at bay--has come as an unpleasant shock, yet I definitely don't feel like I'm me ten years ago; I feel like I'm me now. I'm perfectly content to be at the stage of life I'm in and have no wish to have back anything I had in the past.

It's only in one aspect of my life that I approach the number twenty-six with some trepidation, and to elaborate requires that I touch on a subject I have traditionally and deliberately shied away from on this blog. But, since we are now approaching the end and the character of this blog has been developed to a point where slight deviations don't threaten to carry it off in an undesirable direction, I will be candid: I'm talking about love. Romance, to be more specific. I haven't been in a serious relationship in the last decade, and, though I really don't have the slightest interest in going on dates and assertively searching out a partner, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a bit uneasy about this prolonged state of singleness. Especially at my age.

Today was not my birthday, but tonight I celebrated with my family, with enchiladas and presents and cake. They sang "Happy Birthday" to me and and I blew out the candles. No, I didn't wish for a boyfriend. But, okay, I did take it under at least flighting consideration before settling on something more altruistic. I don't know what the next year will hold as far as relationships are concerned. And, honestly, I'm not very open to responding positively to any opportunities that may arise. I know myself and know that I will anxiously resist anything and anyone that threatens my ideal for how romance ought to develop. But I do hope that, when the time comes for me to take a chance and make a change, I won't hold back on account of fear.

Family Vacation Videos

There’s the sudden realization that my sisters were always cooler than me. Way cooler than me. Simply because I, throughout my adolescence, tried too hard to be cool and they, in the tenacity of youth, didn’t have to try. And yet, though they always seemed deny it adamantly back then, they now attest, unashamedly, to the many ways that they admired, even idolized me. We are watching an old family vacation video and Lindsay says, “I remember that swimsuit. I couldn’t wait for you to grow out of it so that I could have it.” I am shocked. I never knew back then that either Ashley or Lindsay liked or coveted anything I had or did. I wanted them to. I really, really wanted them to. But they always seemed so confident and secure in the unyielding sisterly support that they, as twins, offered one another and I, as the non-twin, was generally exempt from. The news that they, at that age, did indeed see me as someone to look up to is thoroughly surprising.

The debate regenerates from time to time and we still are at an impasse as to who was the more injured party. I felt ostracized by them, the twins, and they felt ostracized by me, the older sibling. At least, as I cannot help but point out whenever the argument arises in conversation, they felt rejected together. I had no ally. In my family, my parents had each other, my sisters had each other, and then there was me.

In the video, a little girl is swinging in a hammock. She is playing with a plastic toy dog and she is singing to herself, a song that she is making up as she goes. I am so outstandingly jealous of that girl, jealous that she doesn’t worry about being too old for her toy, jealous of her unconcern for how much sense her lyrics make and who might hear them. The camera spans right across the family campsite and I can see her older sister, examining her reflection in the minivan’s windows, feeling restless.

I forced myself to grown up too fast, obsessed with winning the approval of others. But part of growing up--as once said a young nun with an uncanny ability to put into words the self-examining questions I had hitherto been scared to ask--is learning to simply accept what is an not obsess over what could be or might have been. No one can ever truly know what others think of her. Slowly, very slowly, I am digesting these truths and learning to apply them.

I Like My Friends

I have friends. I sometimes forget that this is the case. I also forget just how wonderful--how encouraging and affirming--it is to be around people I love and who love me; not just family, whom I also love and care about deeply, but people I choose to be around, with whom I have much in common.

It had been a while since I'd seen any of my friends. I hadn't made a trip up to the Azusa area since before leaving for France and, to be honest, I was a little nervous about seeing these people again. I had been away from that crowd for several months and a lot had happened in between. I know that I, at least, had changed. I worried that social interactions might be awkward, strained.

But, oh, I need not have suffered concern! My friends are wonderful people: hospitable, generous, easy to be around. It's no wonder that they became my friends in the first place! I am an introvert; being around people is seldom as easy as being on my own. But there is something revitalizing about being around these people. I'm up here for two nights. I considered not making the drive. But I'm so glad I did.

Donuts for Dad's Day

The donuts that I started last night turned out okay. I was a little skeptical about the instructions to "use your finger to poke a hole in the middle of each of the mounds to give them a donut-like center," and rightfully so: once the dough had risen, the holes all but disappeared. Still, the consistency and flavor of the end product were pretty good. Not quite as light and delicate as I would have preferred but, still, pretty good. I think I've eaten about eight of them today. Baked donuts, though certainly a little less tasty than their fried counterparts, nevertheless successfully satisfy that donut craving, minus the yucky stomach-achey after affects.

The donuts came out of the oven just in time for a late Father's Day breakfast. My dad grabbed a few and took them out into the back yard with him, so he could munch and work in the garden at the same time.

I have a great dad. I don't think I demonstrate often enough just how grateful I am for all he does. He's such a hard worker, generous, thoughtful, and a good friend. Both my parents have been absolutely amazing these past months, while I've been forgoing searing for a job in order to travel the world or just sit around the house reading a book. They never pressured me or tried to make me feel guilty about taking some time off just for me. They never tutted or made me feel ridiculous after all the times I've changed my mind about what I want to do next with my life. They've given me space. They've let me live in their house. Whether I was thinking I wanted to go to seminary or start a second bachelor's degree, stay in San Diego or backpack around Europe, they've been nothing but supportive. And I appreciate it. Deeply.

Right now I can hear them in the living room, watching 30 Rock on Netflix. I'm also grateful that I'm able to share common tastes with my folks, like our tastes in sitcoms and in donuts. I think I'll close my laptop now and go join them in a little of both.