so many people in my suitcase heart

I've been told -- and it makes sense -- that your 30s are so much better your 20s; you're more settled, more stable, you have a clearer idea of what you want even if you're not sure exactly how to go about getting it. You're more grounded. You know how to deal with yourself better. I'm not sure if any of that is true yet, but it makes sense, and it holds true for my early 20s vs. my late 20s. And at the risk of tempting fate: So far, 30 is so, so good.

I spent the last hour trying to figure out how to express how wonderful my 30th birthday has been. Fancy brunch and a musical with my family; a weekend trip to Charleston with J.; an incredible and thoughtful and amazing surprise party; another surprise trip still to come next weekend. Words aren't cutting it.

A birthday's not a birthday without a goat.

Or hanging moss.

Or parasailing (photo by J.)

Or sunsets on Folly Beach.

Or giant Dora balloons.

But without being able to show you the faces of the people who made everything this way, I can't even begin to explain what they mean to me and how loved they've made me feel in the last few weeks. So I apologize: These limp words fall so far short of what I want to say.

This pig wants you to know he's happy too, and also thankful for the corn and stuff.