Thoughts from a 28-year-old

OK, so the birthday's come and gone. 28 feels normal, natural. I think part of it is I start thinking of myself as the next year up about March or April. My little brother and I were laughing the other day because sometimes we actually forget how old we are. He has the excuse of a mission-- he said he always feels like he didn't age during the experience, though his maturity level changed dramatically (well, for the first week or so after he was home... then he was back to leaning on my mom in church and putting on her jewelry to entertain himself during sacrament meeting).
Anyway, the birthday was super. My friends and family were awesome, and I felt mighty loved. The very best part of the day was hanging out with the entire immediate fam. I love them all so much! I'd expected to spend the entire day with Zoey, but her mom took the day off because she wasn't feeling so well. Even though Zo-Zo is a lot of work, my day just felt empty without her. Still, it was a blessing, because I don't know how we would have controlled her while Aunt Ashley spent FIVE HOURS doing my hair. But pain is beauty and all that.
The next day, I got a taste of the family unity again. I arrived at work to find my father beat me there (a rare occurrence). Shortly thereafter, my little brother showed up to help dad shear some sheep. I was busy sending some bids to contractors when I heard Skye and Zoey come through the door to watch. Zoey wore her Reese's Peanut Butter Cup shirt, and walked up to Flower and Bethany (the sheep) and said, "Hey! Where are you going?" Skye looked radiant, even though she insisted she was grubby and on her way to wash her car. Then mom's friends Trish and Claire trickled in, along with Claire's beautiful daughter Christina. Anelia, the lady who cleans my mom's house periodically, was also around, and it felt like a party. If only Ashley and Robert were there, we would have been complete! But looking around at all these people just made me super happy. We all fit. We're all family. And that's better than any gift.
But in case you were wondering what kind of loot a 28-year-old gets, I'm here to accommodate. I'd expected only practical things. The one thing I'd asked for-- some shelves for my storage room-- I didn't get. But that's ok. I can take care of it on my own. I did get some underwear. Yes, that's what happens when you are an adult! But much to my surprise, I had many wonderful things as well-- jimmy-jams and a tablecloth and ta-da! A laptop. I'd not asked for one, but I think my parents were inspired to buy me something I can use to make money moonlighting with... think editing and freelance work, and of course, my own writing (the book stuff is coming along slowly-- I'm tentatively calling this phase of the project "The Hands that Hang Down"). It's extravagant, but also practical. This is why my brother got welding equipment one year. The Segos work with a will, even when they play.
Of course, that's not to gloss over the other wonderful surprises-- Ben, Skye and Zoey enabled my shopping weakness by passing along some gift cards, as did Claire and Christina. Ashley did my hair, which was pretty much the most generous gift of all time, and much-needed. I don't think I'd had a haircut since November, and I was starting to look like "The Shaggy Dog." Aunt Sylvia gave me a chest (with drawers, not implants), Aunt Bev a book and Aunt Trish some paper lanterns (note: I'm glossing over a lot-- the friends were also amazingly generous, but I'm thinking personal thank-you notes are better and more appropriate). The point is, I was spoiled as ever. It makes me uncomfortable-- everyone is so generous and kind-- but absolutely thankful. Mother bringing me a Baskin Robbins' Clown Cone (my favorite special treat in the world!) and taking me for a pedicure is kind of indicative of the whole day... luxurious and whimsical. Just like my life. Just the way I want it.
OK, one more quick moment of sharing before the bragging police come to take me away, here is my gift to myself: The globe lamp! I'm so super-in-love with this thing, and it's a perfect fit in my house. And at 50 percent off, plus a 15 percent birthday discount, I didn't have to feel like I just frittered away Jemima's college education. It's not often that something like a lamp will capture my attention and imagination in such a way, but it's been life-changing. When lit, it casts a warm glow over the kitchen and living room (which is impressive, considering it only uses a 25-watt bulb). It led to my discovery of the steampunk movement, which is harnessing all kinds of creativity, though don't expect me to be sporting Victorian garb and goggles anytime soon. The lamp feels like an heirloom piece. Someday Elaine Fairchild's kids can inherit it. It makes me soooo happy.
Another happy discovery: my new favorite actress. So I know everyone is all about Dakota Fanning and blah, blah, blah, but you know who rules? Mae Whitman. Against my better judgment, I rented "Nights in Rodanthe" last weekend. I'd read the book, though heaven knows my disdain for Nicholas Sparks and his emotional cheap-shots (oh, how I resent how they work on the feeble-minded! When people say their favorite book and/or movie is "The Notebook," I cringe and immediately judge them). Still, I love Richard Gere and figured I'd actually give it a shot, having seen a little part of it on the plane ride back from Barcelona.
My analysis: Ugh. I won't even bother with analysis. There's just not much to say beyond how disconcerting it is watching Richard Gere making out with Diane Lane. He looks like he's going to kill her. And, I guess that's often the way Richard Gere kisses in movies, but it felt particularly ooky in this one. Maybe because I have a hard time forgetting the actor and his work towards liberating Tibet. Or maybe because he's old and scarier than I'd remembered.
BUT the point was, before rambling about Richard, cute little Mae Whitman is in the flick, and made up for so much. She plays Diane Lane's rebel daughter, reeling from hormones and the effects of her parents' separation:

I just really like this girl. The character was flat and stereotypical, but Mae gave her some vitality. And all through any of her limited scenes, I'd think, "Where do I know that girl?" Imagine my surprise when I looked her up on imdb the next day and saw that she was the same little girl from "Hope Floats," even Bernice Pruitt!

That alone should give you an idea of how great this little girl is. I can't watch "Hope Floats" without being amazed with this gal. She's working steadily, voicing Tinkerbell in all the new Disney stuff. That's pretty cool, considering she's been making me love her work since "One Fine Day." But the BEST revelation?

She also played Ann Veal on "Arrested Development!" Comic genius!

You can tell how much I love her, because it's not often I go all fan-girl on people. But I'm in. She is my Jennifer Aniston, because I even had Ashley give me the Mae Whitman haircut the other day:

I know! How embarrassing, but I really think she's such a little superstar. Here's hoping she doesn't go all Lindsay or Mary-Kate on us.

OK, now that I've basically reverted back to being 12 (I love you, Joey McIntyre!), I can move on.

Being 28 is nice. I haven't had the feeling of complete empowerment that came with 26, or the euphoric soaring of 27... yet. They might come. But I look at my life and feel comfortable in my own skin. I no longer fall asleep, planning out how Prince Charming will come and sweep me off my feet. I go to bed planning the next day and how to make the most of it. I still dream about Disneyland every six weeks or so, though. No worries that I'm becoming completely hardened.

As a 28-year-old, I no longer think of the perfect day as reading teen lit, getting a pedicure, finding something on sale at Anthropologie, and going out for a night on the town with some handsome dude or other. Of course, those are all fun, and having done all those things this week (well, the fourth one is actually happening tonight if we stretch our definitions of "handsome" j/k), I still am up for any and all whenever the opportunity arises. But to me, now, in my "old age" and with the benefit of nearly three decades of life experiences, my perfect day now is one that starts with kneeling at my bedside in prayer. It includes exercise and doing all I can to take care of my spirit's temple. It requires an honest day's work, full of accomplishment. It is augmented by service-- within my immediate sphere of influence, and if possible, beyond it-- something for the greater good. The perfect day makes time for learning something new, and time to pursue my talents, particularly in writing and music. The perfect day to me is a day without falling short, losing my temper, blaming someone else for something that's my fault or beyond our control. My perfect days are those when I harness the whimsy in my life, and a day when I've let someone know I love them. A day wouldn't be perfect if it didn't include repentance and forgiveness and gratitude and kindness and a faithfulness to my various stewardships. The perfect day ends with flossing and brushing my teeth, moisturizing, reading my scriptures and again kneeling in prayer. And when you're 28, you may not have all those elements at once, but because your perception and requirements for perfection are more realistic and attainable, you get more of them. That is the blessing of 28.