On Being Twenty-Eight
a personal essay.
Twenty-eight feels right. I believe it’s because it is an even number. Twenty-seven - the number, not the year- felt off to me. I don’t know why. It just isn’t my favorite number, and so I never really liked it. So twenty-eight seems better. It does feel older, in a numerical sense. Though, I do love aging. I love that I feel the strongest I’ve ever felt; I love that I feel beautiful & sturdy. I love the process of knowing myself & what I want, for the most part. I have so many women in my life- & some men- who are in their “golden years.” I admire them, & relish their wisdom. That is what excites me about aging. I’m not trying to rush it! I enjoy the youthfulness of being in my twenties. And I appreciate these older women of mine who age like fine wine. I hope that I can harness even a sliver of their grace as I, too, grow in years.
I am reminded of the song “Circle Days” by Joni Mitchell, one of my favorite artists. My mom used to play that song throughout my childhood. It struck her, I think, as she watched her children -Jess, Sophie, & me- grow from girl to woman. She formed those transition stages… oh, how those tumultuous preteen & teenage years of puberty, angst, heartbreak, homework, school dances, body images, college applications can be minimized to “transition stages.” I digress… that song would play with a melancholy allure to it. The whimsy of childhood married to the reality of aging. I am here, at twenty-eight, and see myself rather than a child in the song. “The seasons, they go round and round…” This line gives me pause. As this summer slows, I am wedding planning for next summer. Another season…
I feel I must add: I write this in my garden & have been taking breaks to water the plants & eat cherry tomatoes from the vine before returning to my journal & mug of coffee. My plants are growing in full force. In about a bit over a month, I will close this garden & prep for next season. Here is where the child in me emerges, at the wonderment of this adult life, of having my own garden with the man I love. So many summers of my youth were spent eating cucumbers from our garden in the back, swinging on the swings, having tea parties or playing Lord of the Rings in the fairy fort. And now I am twenty-eight, & I sit in my garden & admire my flowers & herbs & vegetables, & feel an immense amount of gratitude- for my mom, for that childhood, for all of the summers leading up to this summer, for my old women who are so essential in my garden of life & prosperity. I am grateful for the abounding love I have experienced & am given today. For the man I share & build this life with. For every time around the sun. And I am keenly aware of & ready for the path laid before my feet. I am ready to be twenty-eight— not that I have a choice, but here I am, claiming it anyway.
river silliness Celebrating life with Molly & Sue Three very important women in my life (from left ro right: Molly, Suzy my mom, Sue)
An aside, because this is my website so I can, there was always one qualm I had with “Circle Game.” The lines “fearful when the sky was full of thunder/ and tearful at the falling of a star.” Even as a kid, I could never connect. I harshly judged this character. I LOVED thunderstorms. I still do. Thunderstorms in Michigan usually meant lightning was near. Lightning meant opening the garage door & setting up camp chairs. We would watch the sky as if it were at a movie theater, except it was God’s show of nature across the panoramic sky. I so clearly remember the electricity pulsing through the wet air, anticipating the next boom that led to the next bold across the sky. And I thought, “Who would be afraid of this?”
As for the falling of a star? Everyone knows that’s a wish to make. I never thought to cry, only to hope when it happened.
Such magical summers! The salt shaker living by the cukes in the garden, yum. And we did the sit-and-watch for T-storms, too. Beautiful. Love you.