The one where she turned 30

Well, I ain't no spring chicken anymore.

And I am completely okay with that.

I remember the first time I realized turning 30 was a big thing. It was when Rachel Green (if you don't know who she is, you make me sad. And are clearly not turning 30) had her pity birthday party that ended in tears. She hadn't accomplished her goals. She hadn't gotten married or had kids or saved the world. All she had was a NYC apartment, well dressed friends, and a job that was clearly not 9-5.

From then on, I believed a change of decades was not a good thing. Not something to be celebrated. Something that would make me feel horrible and practically dead inside.

But as 30 approached, I was incredibly calm.

(I think I was a little more freaked out about not being freaked out then by actually turning 30).

I couldn't help but wonder why.

And I soon realized that it was because I am surround by so many women in their 30's who are accomplished, amazing, inspiring and still damn hot.

I may not have reached all the goals I thought I would have at this point.

But who cares?


I've always marched to the beat of my own drum. Just because I don't have a ring or a child or a house, (or a plane. Or even a Wii) I'm still a pretty cool 30 year old.

Normally, I would take a trip for my birthday, but seeing as I used up just about all of my vacation time this summer, I decided to do something just as big....but more dangerous. And more challenging.

And down right ridiculous.

I decided to skydive.

Jump from a plane.

For fun.

(Why people do this, I do not know).

Friend L and I went early one Saturday morning. It was cold and foggy....clearly a sign that we should probably just turn back.

We went to a place in Byron, CA. It was the closest place to the city....Friend A had recommended it...and since she lived, I figured it was legit. You start the day out watching a movie staring a big bearded man who tells you that yes, you can die. But you probably won't.

And if you do, your benefactors cannot sue.

I was determined to do this, if not only to prove to myself that I could.

See, up until I started traveling for work, I hated planes. Just being in one freaked me out.

And now I was planning on jumping out of one. Willingly.

I'll admit. It was absolutely beautiful. Even if for the first 3 minutes I could have sworn I was having a heart attack. You could see the Sierras, the entire city, the South bay. You could probably see heaven, but my eyes were closed the entire free fall.

 

 

Now, most people freak out about the whole experience before they jump. But I have never lived a normal life.

So, naturally, I freaked out afterwards.

I swear, I woke up with night sweats for three days after jumping out of the damn plane.

I couldn't even watch my video without feeling nauseated. I actually goggled "Fear Following Skydiving"

And nothing came up.

Not a single sympathizing person. Not a second sufferer.

I was alone.

30.

And alone.

Fitting.