On Domesticity.

I'm not very domestic. I nest. I have a nice home, with nice things where people feel comfortable hanging out. I'm a reasonably good cook and I can make a table look really beautiful. But I'm not really domestic.

I'm a terrible cleaner. (So I've hired someone to come in twice a month.) There are many times when a visit to my fridge produces less than mouth-watering results - condiments, milk, cooking wine. In the last three weeks, I've had to wear mismatched socks at least three times because I haven't done the laundry. I never iron. 

But, today, I was domestic and it was great. I worked in the yard, cleaned the kitchen, did some grocery shopping and washed and folded all the laundry. I have blisters from the yard work, and a giant bruise on my shin from an errant cart at PetCo, but all in all it was a really productive day.

Growing up, and particularly in college, I judged women who didn't seem to want a career. (To be honest, I basically judged everyone about everything when I was 20.) I thought, how pathetic - why don't these smart, capable women want more out of life? Why even bother with a college education if all you want to do is get married and stay at home? There's got to be a less expensive way to guarantee that future. 

The older I get, I see just how wrong I was. And how right.

I work. Every day. Have since I was 16. I have two master's and a fantastic undergraduate education. I worked hard in school, because I always knew a career would be A) not optional and B) really important. I was right on both counts - it is a huge part of how I define myself, the only way I could support myself, and how I structure my days and weeks and months and years. 

Work, however, is really stressful. I work for an incredible organization with really skilled people, but it's hard. There's never enough money, time or resources to do the work that we really want to be doing.  I tend to, foolishly, bring that stress home. How do you leave it at work? Particularly when work is texting and emailing all weekend long.

But today, I was domestic. I wasn't stressed out. I accomplished all the goals on my list, and I'm happy. Content. Hell, I was so productive that I started this blog. Making our home beautiful is fun and endlessly rewarding for me. My boyfriend loves it - he's never been more proud of his house since I moved in. It's peaceful here. And it's ours. And it reminds me I'm grown-up.

Being domestic makes me feel good, and accomplished and in control. I like feeling all those things. That's where I was wrong.

Here's where I was right. I think I'd become really boring really fast if I was just "domestic" every day. It was so easy! No conflict. No struggle. No conversation. What would I talk about? Aerating? Fertilizer? Ways to fold socks? Ugh.

I think I need a little bit of work-work in my life, but having a few more domestic days wouldn't be so bad either.

Domesticity.

On Writing. For the First Time.

So I'm 30. And a woman. And unmarried. And childless. And living in my hometown. Might as well just write me off now. Go ahead, I don't mind. Because I'm 30, and, as it so happens, your opinion isn't really the most important thing to me anymore. (One of the best parts of not being in my 20s.)

I'm starting this blog because I think I might have a terrible memory, and I don't want to forget what thinking and feeling and learning was like at 30 (since I've mostly completely forgotten what it was like at 20). Plus this last birthday hit me pretty hard. Not in that weepy-I'm-so-pathetic-I-can't-get-out-of-bed kind of way. But in that way that some birthdays do where they ask you, beg you, to consider time. 30 seemed to demand a kind of retrospection or introspection that A) 29 didn't and B) I'm not really prone to.

Also, I like sharing stories. I appreciate good ones in any form, and so I thought I'd try my hand at this one. I have some good stories not from this year, but I might share them anyway - just so I can go back and read them later. My grandfather was the most incredible storyteller I've ever known. But he never wrote them down, so we all lost those stories when he died. Just in case I have a really really good one, I'd like to save it. For posterity's sake.

I hope you enjoy some of these posts. If not, don't read 'em. There are so many really incredible things to read out there, so if this doesn't work for you I implore you to find something that does.

If you do enjoy them - please share your thoughts and experiences - we're all in it together, right? Except those 20-somethings. They aren't really in it yet, so let's not ruin it for them.