30

I wanted to step into it with grace. A soft hug goodbye. There are unnamed and poorly understood women in my mind - unrealized, idealized, fractions of, pulled together lazily, who I wanted to mirror. What I wanted to have happened by, without conscious adaptation or effort in motion. I wanted to feel separate from social/societal construct/pressure, that the years I've lived were more than the accrual or lack of status, accomplishment, income, career, having found that very purpose that seems to fulfill just as much as it squeals pressure. Anxiety. Is all it was; anxious that I wasn't where I should be, which is lame, because now that its over, it all feels different. And there's peace.

What I understand about myself is that the day after a big thing feels sunken, a drop, depressive. To combat that I set out to celebrate life (ours, mine) as amply as possible. A summerfull. Beginning with Karis' bachelorette in Vancouver, racing a 1/2, Ragnar NW Passage, Karis & Joel's wedding on Lummi, a family affair in Olalla with bowls of fresh caught shrimp, pasta, and the coconut sludge of a German chocolate cake, and, then, a weekend in BC with some of my dearest friends.

We rented a house downtown: old, 3 bedrooms, that popcorn kind of ceiling you'd fondle and press into as a child. The absolute bare minimum. Hung stars from the ceiling. Played games, drank the thirst-quenching margs and ate chile con queso made by Cousin's hand. Mck creative in the kitchen with our bare mins, adorning a homemade chocolate coffee cake with icing made out of the interior of a rice cooker, a frozen pizza propping up the old wood slat windows to let the cool air through. All of us, all night, laughing at each other's drawings before passing out, two to a bed, with LB asleep beneath an expanse of skylight.

In the morning we had an oatmeal breakfast bar with seeds, dried fruits & almond butter, drove to North Van, to Lynn Canyon where we ran along a suspension bridge, up winding wooden stairs and happened upon a hike/run up to Lynn Peak. Mck & I too stubborn to turn back despite the 1k in vert accumulation per mile on scree, climbing, asking everyone, anyone howmuchfurther? Comparable to Grouse Grind, through a grove of old-growth trees, and at the top, sweeping Seymour & Elsay. On the descent Mck earned 8 rolled ankles, and at the bottom, at the cafe, the group reunited, their arms encouraging forward cold beverages, iced lattes.

Back at the airbnb we packed a bottle of rosé & snacks and walked to a neighborhood park with here & there couples tossing their curly-headed poodle-somethings balls, baby's cooing on the splayed laps of their parents, us flipping mags over wine & carrots. The park held me most soft.

We got ready over black bubbles, crammed into the bathroom, exposed skin, the curling iron, her red hair voluminous and aflame. Stood before the white square of wall poised, kissing, engulfed in a swallow of arms. Two taxis took us to the Alibi Room at the edge of Gastown, where LB had a bottle of rosé waiting chilled for us. I got weird here. I almost had to call it: exhaustion, day drinking, the epic 3k vert hike, the bulk of a delicious meal sitting like a stone in my stomach, but out from the purse of Cousin, a 5-hr energy...and I was back. We shared charcuterie, a crispy pork belly samwich with kimchi mayo, pickled vegetables, fries & slaw and other mouth-ravishing combinations of incredible. Waiting for the 5-hour to soak, we sampled cocktails of egg whites and aperol.

We ended the night at Prohibition, which seeks to transport its patrons back to the roaring twenties'; a speakeasy, live music, an extensive champagne selection, absinthe, darkly lit, with walls of dom. Sipping the thin glass rim of a Hotel Georgia Cocktail circa 1950, with broker's gin, lemon, orgeat, orange blossom water, egg white and nutmeg. We started the dance floor. The black fringe on my cousin's playfully see-through top back and forth and back. Clusters of he-and-she groups gravitating towards the musicians, until, in a strange turn, the band played "Waterfalls" by TLC and not a one of us knew how to slow dance appropriately to that.

On Sunday morning, before the house woke, LB, Ber & I set off for a long run along the water, past science world's large orb, past pirate ships with pirate dance parties, past graffiti of cats, past sandy beaches, past kitsilano and the longest pool, along old race routes, sweating out all the muck of booze.

We packed up the house and headed to the Belgard Kitchen, whose entrance opens with two 20 ft. high, ornate wooden doors, where they serve coffee in mix-matched mugs, make their own ketchup, and serve their meals on slabs of wood. The health nut breakfast bowl of quinoa, avocado, goat cheese, arugula, toasted nuts, poached eggs, lemon + okanagan falls honey vinaigrette, smoky onion & parmesan cream was a gasm in and of itself, but I also dug into the belgard brunch burger of pemberton meadows beef, village cheese works cheddar, caramelized onions, house relish, tomato & fried egg on brioche with brunch spuds, of my cousin's. Post brunch we hit the road north, home by dinner, laying on a blanket in the sun with more chile con queso, cold wine and our books splayed open in our palms.

On the day I was born I woke up to a room full of balloons and a donut with a candle from Red. I ran a 30k cutdown in preparation for the Bellingham Bay Marathon and took a hot shower with a cup of frothy coffee. My cousin came over with a bottle of champagne, orange juice, and a large lawn chair half erect from her trunk - a gift for my sunning pleasure.

We shared mimosas before heading downtown to get my arm a tattoo - an ode to one of my favorite city's, trips, culinary experiences - New Orleans. Red's gift to me. We bar hopped & happy hour'd before heading home to prep for a bbq; tables full of cheeseboards, fruit, salads, hot dogs, marinated chicken, and a big chocolate cake in white frosting Red had slaved over. Friends and family piled in, two corn hole sets in constant motion. A baby naked in the kiddy pool. The sun set and we laid out on a checkered blanket and took shots of tequila and my father told everyone the story about the day I was born.

I said I wanted to live as amply as possible, for making it this far, for being a woman in fight against pressure, self and culturally imposed, and so tomorrow we leave for San Francisco, one of my favorite city's, with my cousin, her crystal-blue-eyed man, and A & S, to tour vineyards and run in Marin, and watch baseball.