Oh. Em. Gee. It’s almost December. Not only does that mean that it’s freaking cold outside, it also means that my birthday is almost here; I’m not going to be 33, that’s all I’ll say. When I was younger, I had this amazing older friend who told me that her 30′s were the best time of her life. She was basically reasoning that by that time you’d have all the drama of “young adult” life behind you and you’d have it pretty much figured out and be set on the right path. So desiring that, for much of my 20′s I was just looking forward to getting older… but that’s not exactly how it’s shaped up so far.

Some awesome things did happen. I had the career I’d dreamt of, went to school for, how awesome is that? It was a career that paid off that school loan; huzzah!! I got to travel, got a company card, could eat out as I pleased, stayed in hipster hotels, banked frequent flyer miles and worked with some amazingly inspiring people. I got paid to make things pretty, create unique shopping environments, boost sales, and I tried to help others learn to do that, too. Those were some peaks — then there were valleys. I, undoubtedly, pissed some people off, let some people down, got stressed out, missed my hubby, hated leaving home, and never quite unpacked my suitcase. I realized that having the career I’d wanted wasn’t as great as I thought it would be; my values started to change, so I left it. Cold turkey style; with nothing waiting in the wings.

I didn’t start working again for 14 months. It wasn’t exactly funemployment, as a lot of people like to call it; it was actually really hard emotionally. I felt strongly that “work” was something that I was supposed to abstain from, but I didn’t know what to do with myself. There were a lot of days (maybe even a few months) where I didn’t get out of bed, usually never got dressed, not a lot of makeup going on or hair being done — and thankfully, I’m lucky enough that my husband doesn’t care about that kind of stuff. I was home. I was a housewife, a bit of a depressed one at that point — but then there were peaks; I started to figure it out. The house started to get cleaned. The laundry was getting done. Little crafty projects were happening. Friends were coming over to visit. In that time I learned to cook, and I learned that I was good at it. I’m serious — I never cooked in our marriage. There were enough failed efforts that we just decided that he would cook, all the time. He loved it, but that season is over. Just last week, I made a full-on Thanksgiving dinner and I have to add, I did it after working an 8-hour day on my feet, taking the bus home, and going shopping for it that very afternoon; super huzzah!! #humblebrag Hold on, you’re not going to believe this: I made Bacon and Cream Cheese Stuffing Muffins. They. Were. Amaze. I adapted this recipe.

So I kinda have a lot to celebrate, even though as I’m writing this, I’m not quite sure if I’m still at the peak or dipping down again. I’m practicing contentment, I couldn’t possibly do this without having had the opportunity to grow in my faith in God last summer. I am figuring it out and I’m happy with where I am. I might not have matching dinnerware, enough wine glasses for a real party — nor do I actually know anything about wine. I am still figuring out what my opinion is on actually having kids. I’m horrible at saving money (I’m such a great spender). Our house looks like a cluttered artist’s pad. I can’t have floor mats in the kitchen because our youngest dog can’t resist pissing on them. There aren’t “investment pieces” in my closet. I don’t have a lot of things that an idyllic 30-something might have. I do have a lot of thirties left… but even if I didn’t, I’d still be ok with that. Really, everything is gravy — buttery, bacony gravy.