Siddity in the City

Call it my year of living dangerously.

A few weeks ago, with little fanfare, I turned 29. Officially, it isn’t a milestone, and I rarely assign any deep meaning to particular years as they pass; a year brings what it does.

This year, however, feels different, perhaps because I’ve been struggling to find my physical and emotional place of late, or because it marks the end of my twenties, the last decade in which one is allowed to make a cockup of life with relative impunity. Maybe it’s simply the influence of my first Saturn return, which allegedly brings with it an unavoidable period of introspection and upheaval. In any case, I didn’t ring this birthday in the usual way, with a manicure and a piss-up, nor with any drama that was not my own.

This year, I ransacked my savings and quietly set off for London, the place I first dreamed my adult world.

Outside the trappings of the life I’d slapped together, I spent two weeks abroad, alone. Two weeks wasn’t nearly long enough; no amount of time spent over there ever is. I’ve been three times, stayed as long as half a year, and I’ve yet to look and live my fill. But it was the bare minimum for what I hoped to accomplish: an emotional check-up, and a spiritual renewal. Happily, it was both.

I regained focus, renewed ambition. A doorman-staffed apartment is not the dream. Making my home in New York isn’t it, either, never was. (Lord only knows where I picked up that “I must win at New York” nonsense. It’s a great place, but it’s really just a place. “I must not drive myself batshit crazy with no tangible reward,” how about that?) The dream has always been to support myself, comfortably, with wordcraft. Importantly, I learned how to accept help when it is offered, without feeling guilt. I’m shaking off guilt. For years I’ve worn the need to be unoffensive, and it’s cohort, guilt when I fear I am not, like a shackle about my neck, and that has got to end. Baby steps, but I’m making progress. I’ve gotten better at observing my limits, enforcing my boundaries. I’ve finally decided to honor myself over my wallet and a false sense of security, turning down once and for all a bad situation with good benefits. This time, I’ll actually be available when the right opportunity comes along.

This year is all about me, pursuing my dreams, unapologetically striving to be my best, and learning how to get out of my own damn way.

I don’t expect my attitude shift, this year, or the next few years to be easy. It might alter the tenor of certain relationships. It will almost certainly continue to affect the tone of this blog. I’ll be scaling back the shopping posts, since I’m now on a much tighter budget than before, having blown the bulk of my savings on travel (so, so worthwhile). Many weeks, I won’t post at all, and when I do, there’s a good chance that hokey jokey Sid will still be on hiatus. Serious Issues might make a reappearance. Then again, Loaf might turn up, too.

I don’t know what the next twelve months will yield. Hopefully something good. Hopefully this next year, no matter how difficult, will yield some powerful transformation, and I’ll come out the other side of 29 having laid a solid foundation for my career, living more comfortably in my skin. Maybe in the UK. That would be a nice bonus.

Or that could just be the plan for my next birthday throwdown. “Dirty 30″ is already calling, and I’m expecting thatto be hella hype.