Thirty was the year of waiting. Waiting to see if I needed surgery. Waiting to find out if my tumour was cancerous. Waiting to be seen at the BC Cancer Agency (because when you have the "good" cancer there isn't as much of a rush to see you.)
I feel like I've learned patience this year. I've learned to let go of the things I can't control and just let things happen. (To a certain degree. Let's be real here, I'm still an over-thinking type-a(ish) person.)
I've learned that just because I want someone to support me, or expect someone to show up for me, it doesn't mean that they will.
I've learned that sometimes people surprise you. That support and love can come from corners you never would have expected them to come from. That when someone offers to come over and clean your kitchen and watch your kid and make you soup you need to say yes, even though you haven't showered in days and you're too exhausted to fake a conversation and there's something unidentifiable growing in the pile of unwashed dishes sitting in your sink.
I've learned how disappointing some people can be. I've learned how amazing some people can be. I'm trying to learn how to rectify the two.
I don't know what thirty-one will be. I hope it's boring. I hope nothing notable happens. I want to hang out with my husband and take my kid to the park. I want to make pancakes on Sunday morning and homemade pizza on Friday night. I want to read books instead of medical facts. I want to spend the next year being a wife and a mom and a friend. I want to nourish the relationships that I have neglected in all the tiresome bullshit of this year.
The last year has been difficult and frustrating and unfair (what is fair?) but I feel like thirty has taught me so much I can't help but be happy. Whatever thirty-one turns out to be, I hope that happiness remains.