Today I (Yi) turn 30 years old. I’ve been decrying this milestone and its sobering implications of aging for months, but with 3 decades of life now behind me, I realize that it is a fine day to take pause and reflect on just how far I’ve come.

My first 10 years as a feeble child I spent gobbling up stories on the page and on film, feeding my mind with fantasies in lands far away, where I was whoever I wanted to be, however large and cunning and heroic.

The next 10 years as a confused teen I spent grappling—
with the meaning of home, as I resettled in place after place, casting a web of belonging across 2 continents, 7 cities, and countless rooms;
with the concept of love, when the forms I knew best were broken and jagged;
and with insecurities that seemed to swallow me inside out.

The last 10 years in my roaring twenties I spent growing—
a sense of self-acceptance, stubborn flaws and all;
a budding confidence in the capabilities of my head and my hands and my heart;
and against great odds, a love that gives me home wherever I go, a love that grew this dream that grows with each stretch of road.

These past 6 weeks leading up to my 30th, I was suddenly grounded. Dan and I flew back to NJ to take care of my little brother while my mom flew to the other side of the world where my dad was getting emergency surgery. It’s been a grueling time, but through it I caught a heartening glimpse of the kind of parents Dan and I will be together someday, and I’m thankful to have that to carry me into the next decade.

I hope my thirties will be about gratitude—
for each bit of joy I get to find, feel, and share;
for the infinite knowledge and beauty in this big world;
and for all the time I’ve been given to make the difference I want to make, however humble and foolhardy and ordinary.