You are tired. And loved.

I am closer to thirty than I ever have been in my life (I have a birthday tomorrow. Today depending on which timezone you look at?). I've become neither big nor small on birthdays. It is what it is. Sometimes they are full of wonderful bits, at others they disappoint and leave a bitter aftertaste. Just like people? Just like people. Also, just like life. Another year gone by, I check for the losses and scars, I say a quick thanks for all that went well, for all the scrapes that didn't end too badly, for the love and kindness and warmth and hug and hope that refuses to die.


I am grateful that I have seen the moon in the Minneapolis sky and it has brightened my evening. Even as today I feel a little defeated by the calendars and scheduling, of the missteps I make and the rough edges that haven't quite gone away, I want to shout out to the stars for always being there, sometimes visible, sometimes less so, but always, always, a constant companion.

So I'll leave you with a poem that I found recently and that I believe is the explanation of life as I know it:

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we'll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I'll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

e.e. cummings