Photo: Gemma, a Black woman with an afro poof and wearing all black long-sleeved shirt and pants, relaxes with one arm resting on knee. She sits in front of a large window wall in a Piaule log cabin. — *Featured Post*

This is 30.
I turned 30 in February. I was asked a few times leading up to this birthday how I felt about it. In the back of my mind, I felt a bit of worry and dread. There was that nagging feeling of "being behind" or somehow not where I should be (whatever that means). But most of all, the negativity was lost in the blanket of burnout. I was slogging through.
In the past few years, I've heard people wax poetic about their 30s. If their 20s were full of struggle and uncertainty, their 30s were full of self-assurance and security.
I spent my 20s always chasing something, literally and figuratively. I wanted to start this new decade on a different note, one that was less about chasing and more about stopping and smelling the roses. I want to slow down, pause, and breathe. Figure out who I am now and who I want to be. And hopefully, document it as much as my bandwidth allows me to.

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