I loved turning 30. I was excited about entering a new decade and had this sense that I’d inherit a legitimacy of adulthood that comes with exiting one’s twenties. I’d hit major milestones in my twenties – graduated college, got married, had a kid. Thirty felt good. It felt right.

Thirty-five feels significantly different, and I’m wondering why. I feel every bit of these five years. Whether that’s because we added another kid or just general decline, I don’t know.

When I was a kid, 35 was the age at which my mother said I could do anything I wanted. So I can’t just let this year go by without doing something. I’ll be chronicling the stuff I do here in this space. It’ll be words, pictures, challenges, reblogs, and I might even share my feeeeeelings. Gross, right?

(And while I do enjoy comments, I refuse to tie my blog’s purpose and worth to them. I’ve done that before and I didn’t like how it shaped my blogging habits.  So comment, or not – but I’m still gonna do whatever it is I’m gonna do.)


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