October Country and the Big 3-0

Sunsets & Pick-up Trucks

It's been, oh, 8 months since my birthday- my 30th birthday- and I am just now getting around to writing about it. But seeing how I feel that it's worth writing about, I figured it has also been worth the wait. 

Turning 30 seems to be a big deal. A BIG deal. It's a changing in the tide, a gravitational pull, a plot twist. At least that's how it felt to me. A shift occurred, a chord was struck, and I sat there with family and friends and watched my life go up in flames. Literally.

I'm sounding pretty dramatic, aren't I? But I really did watch my life go up in flames in a sense. My life in words, that is. 

My one request for my birthday celebration was that there be a bonfire. I love bonfires because they bring back so many good memories for me. Mostly revolving around being at my Godparents' farm and playing Foxes & Hounds with the youth group. Or the one time we were invited out to watch the meteor shower. Or from the time a large group of friends descended on Dottie's house and made s'mores. 

I also wanted a fire because there was something else I had to do. 

My Big Ol Trunk full of Journals

I had made mention on Facebook that my goal was to read through all of my journals before my birthday rolled around. From October 1st to October 24th I let myself be captivated by my own becoming. Considering I had kept journals since the age of 9, this was no small task. 

Secretly I had hoped that I would stumble upon some sort of inner wisdom. I wanted to find little bread crumbs to my current life left by my younger self. Instead I found a lot of what I called "emo lamentations". Mostly about boys or school. There wasn't anything truly enlightening except for the fact that WOW factor of being mortified by my own hand. I sat there on my sofa shaking my head and sighing out loud. Conversations between me and the bound volumes that were lying strewn around me in a semi-circle were hilarious. Heartfelt. But mostly hilarious. 

I ripped out the pages. All of them. Entry after entry, and stacked them in two designated piles. One labeled "Keep", and the other labeled "Burn". There wasn't much left over. I kept what was still raw and alive in me. The conflicts that had yet to find resolutions. 

As for the "Burn" pile, I heaved them into a rubbermaid box. The night of the party I lifted the box into the back of my mom's car. I hadn't told anyone yet what my plan had been. My mom and my sister both looked a little perplexed at the sight of it, but said nothing. I suspect that they are used to my oddities and whims by now. (Note to self: Must do better at keeping them on their toes.)

THE cake!

When we arrived at the home of our gracious hosts for the night, Matt & Kim, the place was decked out  and beautiful. The table in the back yard had been set with an orange table cloth and candles. The pyre had been set up and was tremendously HUGE. There was food to be cooked and consumed. A veritable feast. Mom had made her infamous chocolate cake. My sister, Libby, had made her equally infamous chocolate cookies. Kim & Matt, and her family contributed the rest of the food and drinks for the festivities. All in all, it was FANtastic. Nobody puts on a dinner like these fine folks. 

The front porch view

We ate as the sun went down and then by candle light. The weather had been good to us and was unusually warm for October. After the moon was out and the food put away, the air turned cold and signaled that it was time to get the fire started. Matt, the bonfire expert in the house, set about lighting it. It was beautiful, and a great birthday present. 

No puppies were harmed in the making of this celebration.

After the fire was burning steadily I retrieved the container from the car and hauled near to the fire. Mom asked if it was s'more supplies, and I finally told her what it was and what my intentions were. I hadn't wanted to tell anyone before hand because I didn't want anyone to talk me out of it. I had a hard enough time trying not to talk myself out of it. 

Too late to turn back, I opened the box and announced to the group seated around me what I was about to do. There was a bit of silence. A bit of "are you sure?" Followed by my throwing a bit of paper into the flames. "Here go all the times I brooded over boys who weren't worth my time!" I said lightly. In my head I thought, "Yes. I needed to do this. I'm not that person anymore." 

The truth was there. I wasn't that person anymore. In a lot of ways I had grown up. In other ways I felt smaller than I ever had before. But I didn't regret it. I almost felt something like relief wash over me with every handful of words I threw in. I invited anyone that wanted to help to grab their own handful. Matt threw a few in and remarked on the purple paper I had used in one journal. I laughed because I knew exactly which journal that had been and where I was at that point in my life. I was happy to see it go. 

A full moon winked at us.

We watched as some of the pages caught fire and floated up into the air. There was something poetic about it. Words could burn. Words could soar. Words could do both at the same time. It felt mighty. 

Eventually, after much more conversation and laughing, the night came to an end. We thanked our hosts and family for the evening. The whole affair was a great gift. 

Burn, baby, burn!

I went to bed that night with an empty box in the kitchen. New journals, sat unmarred and uncharred on my bookshelf. In the morning there would be a blank slate. A blank page. A new start. 

A beginning. Starting with the words "Dear Diary,".