On “Turning Over a New Leaf” and Other Decade’s-end Clichés

For roughly the last nine years I have been clinging to the comforting promises my favorite English professor offered me whilst shopping for alcohol at a local grocery store. The summer between my junior and senior year of college, in 2001, found me interning at a publishing company in Des Moines and spending my spare time with a friend whose romantic life was far more interesting than mine. As fate would have it, she found herself unceremoniously broken-up with one weekend, and since I was newly 21, I was in charge of picking up some beer with which she could drown her sorrows.

I wasn’t in the booze aisle for long when I looked up and noticed the professor who had taught my short-fiction writing class walking towards me. Although I’m usually paralyzed with fear at the thought of having to write fiction, I adored my short-fiction class almost as much as I adored this professor. After she asked for my beer-buying advice (and I am far from an expert), I explained I was there picking out something for my lovelorn friend. She groaned sympathetically and wished me and my friend good luck in handling romantic disasters to come. I can’t remember for sure how our conversation went from mundane to memorable, but it eventually resulted in her telling me that life would get easier in general by the time I got to my 30s. “I promise you, it gets better. Your 20s are so much harder.”

It’s a good thing she told me this then, because things got a lot harder after that summer. A few short months later 9/11 happened, George W. Bush settled into office and my own physical health threw a giant wrench in my plans for the future. Things started to rebound in 2006-2008 with the success of my stimulator surgery and the landing of my best job to date. However, 2008-2010 has been a rollercoaster that I’ve documented pretty thoroughly in this space.

One of the benefits of being born at the tail end of 1979 is that every time the world marks the end/beginning of a new decade, I get a nice, even number to start the decade with too. For example, I turned 10 right before 1990, and turned 20 in time for the beginning of 2000. This year is no different – I turned 30 shortly before the dawn of 2010. Somehow this makes all the looking back at the last ten years -- and forward to the next -- all the more cathartic. And it’s for this reason that I so welcomed the age 30. Turning 30 is giving me a chance to “start a new chapter of my life.” [That sounds a lot less cheesy when I say it in my head].

If you’d asked me a few years ago, I probably would’ve admitted some dread about reaching the big 3-0, citing hubris such as lack of professional or romantic success and financial instability. I had one friend who celebrated her 29^th birthday two years in a row, and another who celebrated her Sweet Sixteen instead of age 31.

But for some reason, the opposite happened to me. At least six months before my 30th birthday, I began overusing the “But I’m almost 30” excuse to rationalize far too many decisions and actions: “I’m almost 30 – that’s too old to still own a futon. It’s time for a real couch,” or, “I’m almost 30, for crying out loud, applying for entry-level jobs is beneath me.”

So far, all signs are pointing to good things to come in this new decade and for my 30s. Nearly every birthday, Christmas or New Year well-wish I received this year contained a variation on a theme: “2010 will be your year,” or “I’m sure your 30^th year will be much better than your 29^th.” One pair of thoughtful friends went so far as to give me 30 gifts and 30 cupcakes. I can’t think of a better way to put a sugary spin on some rough years.

One of my closest friends, who also turned 30 two days after me, sent me a new journal as a gift. There's an inspirational block of text on the cover and on the back of the notebook that I'm briefly excerpting here:

"She's turning her life into something sacred: Each breath a new birth. Each moment, a new chance...It is here where she must begin to tell her story."

Fitting, huh?

I have been far from alone in enduring the trials and tribulations of this decade, but even Time magazine’s morose “Decade From Hell” article offered some glimmers of hope, and all things considered, I have many, many things to be grateful for. And some day I’ll try to look back at the last ten years and count all of the lessons learned and why it was imperative that I remember them. But until then, I’m gonna stuff those memories back down for a while, and party like it’s 1999 all over again.

Rumble at the Altar

One of the reasons I signed on to be an on-call nanny while I job hunt is that I have found that being around some kids — usually in direct proportion to their cuteness quotient and degree of crankiness — can give your mood an unexpected and always welcome boost. There were days when I was sick a lot and living at home — days that make unemployment seem like a cake walk — that visits from the kids next door were a godsend. They typically bopped on over, either one-by-one, all at once, or in pairs, unapologetically in search of candy and/or chocolate milk.

When I got better and moved to Evanston I missed their daily knocks on the door. Which is not to say they always knocked. Sometimes I didn’t even know there was anyone else in the house until they knocked on the bathroom door while I was getting out of the shower. But I always made sure I saw them on visits home. There were even some tearful  (theirs, not mine) partings when I inevitably had to leave Princeton.

Now, all of that kind of pales in comparison to the relationship my sister’s fiancé, Ryan, has with them. Their reaction to him can only be likened to Beatlemania. All of them, from the 10 year old to the toddler, can’t get enough of Ryan. And vice-versa. Ryan somehow has the stamina to give countless piggy-back rides and the ability to spark fights over who gets to sit on his lap and who gets to sit on his shoulders. When the kids are worn out from using Ryan as their own personal jungle gym, they curl up next to him and unwind for a while.

Watching Katie and Ryan and the kids interact is a sight to behold. So it was only fitting that they decided to include the girls in their wedding in October. And I, for one, can’t wait. If the ceremony is any reflection of my sister at all, it will be a most low-maintenance and relaxed affair. She is the bridal equivalent of Barack Obama — inviting of others’ opinions and open to suggestions. It’s telling that she was able to find The Dress off-the-rack without any need for alterations. (And sidenote, speaking of weddings, what's wrong with you, California?)

I’m 99.9 percent sure that the whole show will go on without incident. But it would be shortsighted of me not to consider the following scenario: that Garity and Hensley somehow decide that they can’t share Ryan with my sister and make their feelings known when the minister asks if anyone objects to this union. I believe there’s a very small chance that a scene straight out of The Graduate could ensue. Or, in the very least, Ryan may have to compromise and give them piggy-back rides on his and Katie’s way down the aisle. So what makes me concerned? I present some photographs as evidence.

Clearly, Katie and Ryan love each other. Their engagement pictures could warm the cockles of even the most cynical singleton's’ heart. 

See, Ryan obviously loves Katie:

And Katie definitely loves Ryan:

Looking at these pictures, it’s easy to see that Ryan’s adoration of these kids is reciprocated:

Look how Jacob, 10, lights up while he wishes Ryan a happy birthday over the phone:

And if you so much as say Ryan’s name to Garity, 5, you get this sweet little face in return:

Also, when Hensley, 7, turns on the charm, you’re kind of powerless against it.

In the end, though, romantic love will win out.

I mean, look at them.

(If you think this is schmaltzy, just wait till I write my toast for the reception).