My 30th Birthday

Why is it, when we see a glass of water half full, we’re involuntarily reminded of the age-old question: “Is the glass of water half full or half empty?” 

I couldn’t type even the first sentence of this essay without making a subtle choice. Is a glass of water at 50% capacity half full or half empty? I’m nearly certain it’s a question we’ve each considered at least once throughout our lifetime. Our answers communicate something about our attitude, right? Half full indicates we’ve chosen to see the good in something, the best side of a scenario. We’re often taught this is preferred. Half empty indicates we’ve chosen to see the lack in something, the missing side of a scenario. At best, we don’t fully understand the question. At worst, we’re pessimistic.

But, what if we answered this question in the most realistic, objective way possible? What might that sound like? What might it feel like to abdicate the choice all together, to simply name the state of the glass exactly as it is?

The glass of water is both half full and half empty. It is both. It can be both. We can celebrate its fullness as we accept its emptiness.

Now, we see the glass of water for its entire, truest state. We recognize its description no longer contains the word “or,” but rather, it contains the word “and,” as it remains completely unchanged from its initial state.

As I turn 30 years old, my reverence toward this notion is perhaps most top of mind. Two opposing truths can exist at once. Two opposing ideas can exist at once. Two opposing voices can exist at once. Two opposing emotions, perceptions, or responses to the world around us can exist at once.

A glass of water at 50% capacity is half full, and it is half empty.

I am a thoughtful person, and I am a reactive person.

Social media can empower and amplify important ideas and voices, and it can cause deep, lasting harm.

I feel fulfilled living in Nashville, Tennessee, and I would feel fulfilled living in my home state of Ohio close to my family and lifelong friends.

I would love to spend more time with this person, and I know I must maintain boundaries.

My marriage to Jared has given me so much, and I have made compromises.

I find value in my work as an artist and entrepreneur, and I would have found value in my work had I remained on a path toward a higher degree.

Religion has helped many, and it has harmed many.

I am sure of my decision to grow my family, and I do not have a clue about its future.

And so on...

I believe my parents made the right choice by divorcing, and I’m grateful for the relationships brought into my life because of that choice. And, I long to visit only one household when I visit home.

I want to be a mother. I want to love my child, teach my child, and learn from my child. And, I want to preserve the life I currently live. I resist the loss of my independence and my time focused on Jared, my work, and my sleep.

I could be alone a worrisome amount of consecutive days, and I love spending time with my friends.

I am a loving, invested sibling and daughter, and I’ve hurt my sisters and parents.

The clause that comes after “and” does not take anything away from the clause that comes before. It simply tells the story of the full picture, a picture we’re oftentimes conditioned to see only partially when, all along, a complex picture—one of coexistence, nuances, and paradoxes—was there all along. The ability to see the full picture allows us to understand our own circumstances, decisions, and beliefs more clearly and wholly.

We must choose to see the glass of water for its truest, entire state. We must choose to study the world around us for its truest, entire state. Only then can we celebrate our life’s fullest parts and accept its emptiest. 

Here, I planned to end this essay by sharing an additional example or two. But, I was then reminded of the very last page of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic.

“Creativity is sacred, and it is not sacred.

What we make matters enormously, and it doesn’t matter at all.

We toil alone, and  we are accompanied by spirits.

We are terrified, and we are brave.

Art is a crushing chore and a wonderful privilege.

Only when we are at our most playful can divinity finally get serious with us.

Make space for all these paradoxes to be equally true inside your soul, and I promise, you can make anything.”

Here’s to you, 30. Here’s to opposing truths. Here’s to complexity, coexistence, nuances, and paradoxes. Let’s get more comfortable with each other throughout this new decade, shall we?

The self-portrait above was taken while six months pregnant with my first child. See more here. View more blog posts here.