It's been a year since I began using this space as a place to write, to make noise about race and art and relationship. I haven't given much thought to units of time measurement. As a girl, days were all I had, weeks were too long, months seemed unbearable and years, unknowable. When I graduated from college I spent three months feeling like I was skating through a vacuous white space, unsure of where I was, because all my life's efforts had been building to that date in 2002--which, incidentally, was my birthday.
But now a year seems reasonable. A year ago I was eager to get done some of the stuff that was on my "stuff to do before I turn 30 list" (sadly, no progress whatever, but not for lack of trying), and to push myself ambitiously and artistically. It's been a year, and things have happened. People have revolved in and out of my life, the nature of several relationships has changed--namely, I'm a married lady--and I've grown a lot into the fullness of myself. But some things have stayed the same: our apartment is as it was, with perhaps more appliances working than before; my job is both in the most satisfying and nauseating of ways, still the same.
But I wonder if change is the way to measure growth. It is with something. If a plant doesn't go to seed, in order to propagate, it's going to die, right? It has to grow taller and fuller, to be fed and to respond to that food, in order to grow. So it is with people: if anything stops moving it begins to atrophy.
But people are more nuanced. A person keeps growing regardless of the fact that they may not get any taller. While the major majority of things around me look the same as they were a year ago, I know that they're not.
I turned 30 on the 22nd. He took me to dinner at a sushi restaurant where he'd taken me for my birthday the year we began dating each other, three years ago. It was nice to be in a place we'd been in before, to remember the newness of our relationship--which at that point wasn't even a relationship, was just two people dating and enjoying--in our present newlywed context. The food was amazing (a hamachi carpaccio I won't soon forget), and there was a lot of looking back. These days I feel an energy to look forward, to move toward what's next with his hand in mine. I find marriage, and turning 30, to be freeing acts; they make me want to fly instead of nest.
I don't know what's coming. He thinks 30 is going to be a good year. There's definitely some 29 shit to leave behind me, and some things to be tidied up. But maybe it will be.