I’m sure it was only yesterday that I was celebrating my twenty-second birthday, leaving behind everything that had shaped my life until that point. The next day, my dad and I piled in my overstuffed white Honda Accord, and headed West: a paradox of emotions, mostly utter heartbreak for my parents, who gave me their support through tear-streaked smiles of encouragement. I’ll never forget that first night after my dad dropped me off at my new temporary home in Studio City, with two girls I barely knew, but who became family during those formative years. Becky, or “Big Boo,” as she was soon known to me, took me to the Hollywood Bowl impressing me with pool circle seats, and I thought I was hot stuff. They had a black kitty named Surrender, whom I quickly befriended, and Kelly gave up her bedroom for six weeks until I found a suitable roommate and an apartment.
I turned thirty-nine this week; it’s been seventeen years since that first night. I know for sure because I had to count it on my hands three times before I believed it. Los Angeles has a way of making you think you’re younger than you are—but this birthday has hit me hard, as in—gasp!—I’m not that young anymore. Perhaps it’s the new dating era, and the realization that I got married before texting was even a thing, and that I (thankfully) cannot even begin to contribute to the conversation with the young girls in my office about dating apps. Or maybe it’s the girl who told me recently the wrinkle in my forehead was “so cute,” when I said I didn’t want to get Botox again because it makes me look too severe. Regardless, I never thought I would be the kind of girl who cared about getting older. But I feel like Carrie Bradshaw when she told Alexander Petrovsky that she wants to have kids and he replied, “And when were you going to do that? You’re what, thirty-eight?”
So yes, I’m thirty-nine. And I thought by now I’d have it all figured out.
Here’s hoping forty really is the new thirty.
Silver Midi Skirt // NavyCamisole // Loeffler Randall Black Clutch
11 thoughts on “Thirty-Nine”
My favorite post to date!
aw thank you!
39 and dayum fine! Xo
Ah, remember that trip to Californ-i-a well. It was the best of times and the worst of times to quote ol’ Charlie Dickens, but you have made us extremely proud. You rock!!
Seventeen years in LA experiencing things most of us won’t have the opportunity in a lifetime. Stay focused, remember your roots, and never forget the love and support you have behind you from home. You have made me the proudest Mother in every possible way. As a side note, you’re not really 39 because I’m only 49. How can that be? ??????
That Anna girl writes like I speak…I agree with her, you are still awesome sista…
39 with where you are in life and what you have accomplished is a fantastic place to be. Success in your private and professional lives, looking like a supermodel, in the best of health, feeling happy; what more can anyone ask for at any age?! I hope this birthday is your best and happiest yet, but only a harbinger of what’s to come. So grateful for our friendship which is almost as old as your life in LA.
…….a mighty gorgeous 39!!!!!
Thank you, Sally!
Great post, but hey where do you live that it’s not consistently hot until July?? LOL it’s always 80+ from March through Dec up here in the Valley. LOL. I love this and I love your magazine article. You rock!! xo
And you look GORGEOUS!! LOL don’t feel like Carrie! 🙂 xo