A selection of phrases taunt my brain, providing background noise during the occasion of this milestone – (yeah! You’ve been on earth for thirty years!)

A man who I was once deeply in love with, we floated around until we realized there was no soil for our seed to take root, he once told me very matter of factly, “If you think you’re easy to deal with, Cynthia, you’re not.”

A man I’ve had a mere handful of encounters with over the years, didn’t have to know me very well to confidently, yet jokingly inform me once, “there’s no winning with you is there?”

And to top it all off, my boss called me a perfectionist the other day, and not the good kind I take it.

Since they’ve found themselves in combination in my consciousness, I’ll take this triage of insight to the watcher watching the watcher in my brain and implore myself to tell myself to go easy as I forge ahead. New decade, new rules.

I come across as Tough McGruff most times, which is hilarious because I’m probably the most sensitive person you know. My feelings will get hurt if you even think about looking at them the wrong way. My only saving grace is some measure of resiliency that’s been instilled in my soul. Sure, sure, you’re hurt, suck it up, Sister. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a whole new system for measuring what’s what in the first place?

My yoga teacher spends a lot of time lately talking about paying attention to your mind. So I’m listening, and not just while I’m standing on my head. What rules am I playing by? What standards do I hold myself and others up against? What kind of person am I to “deal with”? How does one “win” with me? What constitutes “perfection”?

Easy peasy, you win, and everything exactly as it should be. Perfectly, perfect right this very moment. Happy Birthday, little girl. You’re alright with me.