Cue the confetti, forty!

 If my 20s were about finding myself, I guess I'd say my 30s were about settling into myself. My 40th is still a few days away, but once August hit this year, the milestone felt ever present. Some may feel a sort of way about a milestone birthday, but to me, it's simply another marker, another notch under the belt. The celebration will be a bit bigger than in past years but for now, there's no identity crisis looming.

I'm celebrating the big event in a few ways. Trav is coming to NOLA for the weekend, we'll do dinner with my folks Friday night at AVO and a brunch at Brennan's in the Queen's Room with 15 of my friends Saturday. Sunday is his birthday, and the current plan is breakfast and a stroll in Algiers Point. I find myself continuing to say "weather permitting" with some angst and PTSD from Ida last year and our bday beach trip cut super short, but weather permitting, we'll spend Labor Day in Grand Cayman (my first Caribbean vacation). Let's do this.

I had a hunch (but couldn't recall) if I marked my 30th on the blog and found that I wrote myself a letter to my 20-year-old self. Genius! It was a look back at the last decade. In that spirit, I figured it was fitting to do the same this year. So without further ado, here's my letter to the past, to 30-year-old me starting year 3 in St Louis:

New Orleans. It's a place you always felt you should have a stronger connection to being it's your hometown, but if we're being honest with ourselves, NOLA simply holds memories of the past, of someone you once were, boxes you never quite fit into, community you never quite found. It will likely be a big shock to learn New Orleans becomes a starring player in your life in this next decade. The upcoming birth of your niece, a request from your brother to be closer to home, and a job opportunity at Tulane find you closing out your STL chapter at the end of the year and moving home at 30.

And by moving home, I mean in all the ways. Gulp. Leaving your stuff in storage purgatory you move back to your childhood home and spend three months questioning whether you made the right move, starting fresh to find community, missing your STL friends severely, and determined to make NOLA something new, something different. Walking the tightrope between transplant and native. You begin to find your footing. By the end of that first year in NOLA, you've purchased a condo Uptown - the Treetop in the Jackson Dupre House - that you'll call home for 7.5 years. Your sanctuary. Daph will move to NOLA that first summer. You'll begin going on dates, lots and lots of dates, as a promise to yourself to finally put yourself out there. You'll date someone who becomes a best friend and you'll fall in love and have your heart utterly broken before the year is out. The first year is a big one. A pivotal one.

The years will blend together. You'll be promoted twice, run your own department, and one day decide the flame of that career you loved and gushed about at 30 has extinguished. You become a licensed real estate agent, you start a new career in healthcare, get promoted twice again, you leave the Treetop and purchase a duplex near the Fairgrounds. You dance in the streets for more Mardi Gras seasons than ever before. You run with the bulls, wear a red dress, sport a tuxedo, lend your voice to HRC, volunteer (in the early years), play kickball, break a bone, and fall in love with New Orleans, for real this time. 

You find community. In ways you never imagined and prayed for.  Friends who become family and relationships that are sustained over many years. You embark on 50? 75? 100 first dates. You fall for a lot guys. You seriously date a few of them. And you give thanks that all the heartbreak led you to someone great, someone special. So hang in there. He's out there. You settle into your gay identity. In a way that finally brings you peace. You make up for lost family time, relish in Sunday dinners with your parents and grandmothers, soak up the joy of your niece and nephews, and form bonds you will carry with you.

You're still you. You've evolved but your core values, your anchors, and your outlook on life remain unchanged. Oh, and I dare say you're better looking. You're welcome. 

I never would have expected my 30s to unfold the way they did. I feel confident my 40s will be no different. So here's to the unexpected. To growing, to living, to finding magic in the mess. I told myself in 2012 I'd likely raise a glass and toast my 30s with nostalgia, pride, and gratitude. Seems about right. Cue the confetti, forty!