22...23...24...

Maturity. It's a scary word, isn't it?

I'm going to be turning the big 2.4. next week and I'm actually really excited about it. Last year, I had the absolute most crappiest birthday of my life. Money was tight at the Department of the Treasury (irony of all ironies) and about half of my coworkers were hours away from needing to find new jobs. Survival of the fittest was reigning supreme and my self-absorbed colleagues forget to purcahse the expected "birthday cupcakes" that every single other one of my coworkers had received on their special day. The first happy birthday wish I received from these "friends" was at 4:50, ten minutes to closing.

I sat in my car during lunch and cried.

Then, after that misery, I went to work my second job without even eating dinner. (Can you hear the fiddle playing in the background--this day was pathetic!) The day ended by coming home to a dark house in a city of strangers.

So, I don't care what I do this year on my birthday--be it something or nothing. Going through all of that craziness last year has made me eternally grateful for the new things in my life this year: a church to belong to, a job to get excited about, a graduate program that suits me, and friends and family close by. That's all the birthday I need. And believe me, that's a big sign that some maturing has been going on over the past few years of my life.

As a little symbol of my leap from 23 to 24, I got myself a new email address with my "big" name, Catharine L. Moore. Now I can look more like the official adult that I'm supposed to be....but only when the circumstances require it. I may be maturing but I am still far from being mature, as those of you that know me well will heartily attest to!

My favorite poem in all the world and the best desciption of who I long to be--

Enjoy!


My Kate

She was not as pretty as women I know,
And yet all your best made of sunshine and snow
Drop to shade, melt to nought in the long-trodden ways,
While she's still remembered on warm and cold days--
My Kate.

Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace;
You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face;
And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth,
You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth--
My Kate.

Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke,
You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke;
When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone,
Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone--
My Kate.

I doubt if she said to you much that could act
As a thought or suggestion; she did not attract
In the sense of the brilliant or wise; I infer
'Twas her thinking of others made you think of her--
My Kate.

She never found fault with you, never implied
Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side
Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town
The children were gladder that pulled at her gown--
My Kate

None knelt at her feet confessed lovers in thrall;
They knelt more to God than they used--that was all;
If you praised her as charming, some asked what you meant,
But the charm of her presence was felt when she went--
My Kate.

The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude,
She took as she found them, and did them all good;
It always was so with her--see what you have!
She has made the grass greener even here with her grave--
My Kate.

My dear one! -- when thou wast alive with the rest,
I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best:
And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part
As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart --
My Kate.

--by Elizabeth Barrett Browning