Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Seven days to go.

They say the older you get the more you know yourself, the more comfortable you feel in your own skin. 
I have seven days left ‘in my twenties’ so naturally I've been thinking about all the feelings you are supposed to feel when approaching a milestone birthday. 
And I'm hitting a big, blank wall.
I don’t know what I am supposed to feel.
I only know it's a significant birthday (Aren’t they all? Having a birthday literally means Eat Some Cake You Didn’t Die This Year!), with a zero on the end of it, and I am supposed to know myself better now than I ever have before. 

So I decided to think about the things I know rather than the things I don’t as I approach the elusive 30... 



I know that glitter is quite the polarizing thing. You love it or hate it. 
I happen to be the former. 

I know that my hair is curly. Despite all those years of my mom saying I love your curls and me wielding a Chi straightening iron in protest, my hair is messy and wild and curly and I couldn’t be happier about it. Moms really do know best. 

I know that a broken heart can feel like the very end of you, but that time really does heal. Also: Krispy Kreme crullers and the very best girlfriends and Patty Griffin blasting through the speakers like whoa.

I know that plaid flannel shirts make me happy. Me and Kurt Cobain and every hipster in Brooklyn.

I know that it is possible to call two places home. One is wide open space and small town living and known. And the other bright and bustling and magnetic.
My Alabama and my New York. Home.

I know that it takes four hours for a nose piercing to close and that asking your then-boyfriend-now-husband to re-pierce it will not end well. For you or your nose.

I know that dusk is my favorite time of day, partly because it’s magic, but mostly because Justin loves it so.

I know that a yucca- when sliced thin & cooked in coconut oil- tastes awfully like a potato chip and yet remains a root vegetable. That and much more thanks to completing the whole30 challenge.

I know that I am a coffee snob and that Bodum should pay me for all the French presses I’ve sold.

Old Crowe Medicine Show and Fun. on repeat. A friend has been calling this the Dirty Thirty playlist and I feel great about it. Thirty should definitely have its own playlist.

I know that living states away from family is hard. Whoever invented Skype & FaceTime, thank you.

I know the best place in Manhattan for a black & white cookie. Come visit. I will take you there posthaste.

I know that marriage is simultaneously the hardest and best thing I have ever done. And worth it. So very worth it.

I know that blogging introduced me to a community of incredibly talented women who became some of my dearest friends and although I haven’t been as diligent a blogger these last months, they remain women who inspire me, women I love greatly.

A red vintage t-shirt boasting the words Alabama Spirit Team and well-worn Levi’s with a tare in the knee. I’m flushed just thinking about it. I know that’s what Justin Rigoloso wore the day I fell in love with him.

I know that approaching 30 is a new sparkly dress and red lipstick and calling your pal to say, Want to take some pictures of me? I’m turning 30 and it feels like a big deal.



Lastly, I know that we each have this one wild and precious life.
I do not want to waste one minute thinking I should have accomplished more by now or why hasn’t this happened or why did that happen.
Instead, I want to live this life well, to be marked by a love for people rather than things, to be so consumed by the grace & kindness shown to me that it overflows and spills out to all those around me.

I have seven more days to be 29.
And then, I am going to put on a party dress, stain my lips red, pump up the jams and eat some cake.
And Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I will turn 30.

That’s what I know.

Monday, March 11, 2013

hello old friend

We've had a staring match for weeks on end.

From the highest reaches of the bookshelf, I'd feel the stares pressing on me like one of those red laser dots from a gun in a crime show. About those red laser dots- my dad always says- You never want one of those things on you. Wise man, my father.

I stretched high on tiptoes, trying desperately not to shatter the precariously perched blue and white Oriental urn into a thousand pieces on my head, finally retrieving my old friend the laptop as I hmph'ed safely back to flat, bare feet on cold hardwoods.

And after all that, we sat, blink blink blinking, just looking at one another. One of us a blank screen, a machine of a master, daring me to make the words come out.

I walked away, red laser on my back. The words felt itchy and forced and I hated it. So much good and challenging and funny has occurred since my last post- the end of November 2012- that has marked my heart and even the lens of my camera... and yet, the words would not come.

Until now.

Tonight I picked up my laptop so swiftly and with such fervor, that urn could have rained down like confetti all around me and I would've called it a celebration. In truth, I was never really fond of the urn anyway.

We've welcomed our first NYC Christmas and a brand new year, hello 2013. Snowy Central Park walks, Ottomanelli muffins for my favorite birthday boy and the joy of a marriage, six years strong. Each recollection a reminder that life is full and meant to be lived with great abandon.

Today, I'm choosing to celebrate these little words. Though shaky as a bumped piece of painted porcelain, they've finally come.


young Molly who never had trouble finding words | a reminder of my face