I find it harder and harder to believe in magic these days.

Life isn’t easy, you know.  It can be full of tough things.  We learn to suck it up, because no one is going to come along and fix it for us.  Right?  We’ve waited and waited, but with no imminent rescue, we eventually make up our minds to stop wishing, and just do what we have to do.  It’s a long and lonely road, but after some time, we learn to just walk forward – head down, no questions.

Do not want.  Do not need.  Do not wish.  Do not hope.

And this doesn’t leave room for much magic.

I have to tell you: lately, I’ve been living without hopes or expectations.  Time has taught me that expectations, however small, will eventually lead to disappointment – so instead of hoping for good things, it’s easier to just take whatever life deals you.

But my birthday brought me a little magic.

Beyond the fact that I saw a black bear, and climbed Mt. Princeton, and sat on a tailgate of an F-150 drinking PBR and talking about Rebecca Black and O.J. Simpson with a new friend, when I got home I had a huge package waiting for me that said it was from “Your Fan Club.”

My fan club.

And I opened the envelope, and realized who it was from: so many of YOU.  People who I know and have met only thanks to blogging.

And in the box was the hot rod of kitchen appliances: a bright red KitchenAid stand mixer.

I shrieked, and then bubbled over, gushing, saying things like, “AND I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO GET MARRIED.”  I have always wanted a KitchenAid mixer, but it’s one of those things seemingly reserved for the espoused – because who would ever be able to justify that kind of money on themselves?

I have burned through hand mixer after hand mixer, only to abandon them altogether and stir things by muscle.  And remember, this is fine – you learn to not wish or hope for anything better or easier than what you have.  “You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit” is a popular motto these days.

But every now and then, people surprise you.  They pay attention, and take action, and bring you the happiest shock you can imagine.  They conspire behind your back to bombard you with love.  They choose red because they think you’re “a red hot siren” (OMG).  Their kind words are sprinkled like magic, and all of a sudden, a little bit of hope is renewed.

I am humbled and grateful – not only for the KitchenAid (although it is one of the kindest, most generous gifts I have ever been given), but for the reminder that magic is worth hoping for.

Thank you, friends – you know who you are – from the bottom of my hope-filled heart, and my cookie-filled tummy.

I am climbing Mt. Princeton.

And baby Zion is breathing on his own.

That’s basically all I could ask for on my 29th birthday.

I am super grateful to have made it through the past 12 very difficult months, and summoning as much hope as I can for the year ahead.

I never thought the day would come, but here it is: I have officially outlived Kurt Cobain.

Today is my 28th birthday.  I’ve waited ALL YEAR for August 4th, and it’s finally here.  Not to make a big deal out of it or anything, but… okay fine.  I am the birthday girl!  Yippee!

I’m so glad to be 28.  The only thing that makes me a little bit sad is that I can no longer refer to my birthday as being “one score and seven years ago” – because that was clever of me, wasn’t it?

Probably not as clever as it sounded in my head.

In all seriousness, sometimes I think that I’m the luckiest girl in the world.  I am surrounded by the world’s best humans – ones that draw out the good, and sit with me in the ugly, and love me regardless.  I have a job that I really like with people that I really love.  I have a body that works and does everything that I need it to do.  I have the sweet serenity of words and books and songs.  I have amazing, life-giving opportunities to pursue the things that bring me joy.  I have a home with hardwood floors and a dishwasher and tall trees outside the windows.  I have an abundance of quiet – which is never to be taken for granted.  I have a humidity-free summer.

A HUMIDITY-FREE SUMMER.

I have nephews who, last night, asked for the story of “Beauty and the Beast” in its entirety, and then wrapped their little arms around my neck and told me that they love me.  And then this morning, sang me “Happy Birthday” with their sweet voices.  And then asked if I was wearing a wig.  And then told me that the man emblazoned across the tush of their underwear was “General Obi-Wan Kenobi.”  And then yelled at each other to stop singing while going to the bathroom.

And for some unknown reason, I have you coming back to this space on a regular basis, reading along and offering more to me than I have ever offered to you through these cockamamie posts.

Most importantly, I have hope in my heart – and hope is just another word for “something wonderful is about to happen.”

So here I am.  28-years old, the luckiest girl in the world, with hope in my heart.  Something wonderful is about to happen.

I am never allowed to complain about anything, ever.

Any weekend that includes both this and this -

- is a good one.

First of all, my blog friend Anastasia came to visit.  We had never met in real life before, but that didn’t stop her from driving 600 miles from Kansas City only to have me drag her out of bed at 4am on Saturday to go climb a 14er.

What. A. Sport.  I liked her SO much!  And look at her – a prairie girl on the summit of Mt. Democrat.  She kicked that mountain in the teeth.

When we got back to the car, we had the idea to put a copy of my CD on the windshield of every car in the parking lot.  Unsolicited?  Perhaps.  Presumptuous?  Y’all.  I just wanted to spread the love.  Don’t hate me.

On Saturday night, my friend Hillary was in town, and got the Parsons clan tickets to her show.

Oh yeah, that Hillary.  The one that wins Grammys and is currently on tour with Tim McGraw (she would never brag on herself, so I’ll do it for her) – and the one who also happens to be a sweet friend from my Nash-days, and absolutely wonderful.  It was so good to hug her neck.

Thanks for the amazing seats, Hill!  We loved it!

Then, last night, a few girlfriends took me out for an early celebration of my birthday.  They gave me presents and listened to me tell the story about the time I led a revolt in the high school band.  Everyone needs friends who will listen to them tell the story about the time they led a revolt in the high school band.  I feel so lucky to be meeting such nice people here.

Recently, someone I know said something disparaging about Denver, and I found myself getting defensive.  I think that’s a good sign.  I think this place may be growing on me.

The comments that you left in response to Thursday’s blog
I was blown away by a couple of things: 1) the TRUTH that was so evident in so much of what you were saying, and 2) the HONESTY about something that isn’t easily summed up in a cliché phrase.  I love that so many of you felt free to share a glimpse into your own stories and experiences with that curious thing called Love.

For the record, I am in agreement with many of you: I don’t believe in “The One”; rather, I think that I will wind up with “A One.”  If I believed in “The One,” I would have married JC Chasez when I was 15.

And on a personal note, I loved it when Casey said, “You ‘know’ when your introvertedness doesn’t mind sharing your space with that person.”  I’m pretty sure that in my case, that will be the flashing marquee sign telling me to go to Vegas RIGHT THIS SECOND.

Lord of the Rings
Last week, my roommate Julie told me that she had never read nor seen “Lord of the Rings.”  I think that I shrieked, “WHAT??!?” and then fell down dead.  But after the disbelief came action, and we watched “The Fellowship of the Ring” and “The Two Towers” this weekend.

Have you ever had the chance to watch something epic – something that has changed your own life, something that has become an essential piece of how you view the world – affect someone else for the first time?  It was so, so fun – and I think that Julie is hooked, even though she kept calling Strider “Striker.”

Micah’s 6th birthday
Yesterday, my nephew Micah turned 6.  I saw him last week, and when I asked him about his upcoming birthday, he said, “I can’t wait to turn 6!  When you are 6, you can do SUCH FUN THINGS – like a cartwheel and lose a tooth!”

And my cynical, disillusioned heart melted into a puddle.

Becca and Sarah sent me a cute lunch bag, just like I wished for.  It is quilted and floral and insulated and zippered and tall enough for a water bottle.

I bought myself a vacuum cleaner at Wal-Mart at 10:30pm last night.  It’s a 12-volt Dirt Devil, and I assembled it by hand until midnight.

On Friday afternoon, I returned home from work to find an enormous box on my front step. I ripped into it, and found a birthday present sent from none other than my favorite Greta in the whole world. It started with a birthday card that played “Mmm Bop” when I opened it (she knows me too well), and, among other things*, she included a CD with the words: “With love, from the Cooking Frenchman.”

Intriguing.

I popped it into my computer, and this is what I found:

The Cooking Frenchman from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

Life complete? I have a Cooking Frenchman extending an open invitation to Paris for wine & cheese – so I think YES. My favorite line: “Actually, my real name is Maxime, but people call me Max – and this is very cool.” Max, you fabulous man, you can expect me in Paris very soon.

*And by “other things,” I mean an illegally-shipped bottle of French wine, and a trio of Parisian cheeses that had gone un-refrigerated in the mail for 5 days en route to Nashville. I opened the box, and was OVERWHELMED by the smell.

Now, granted, French cheeses are typically stinky – and the longer they are left out of the refrigerator, the “riper” they become. But honestly. Could it possibly be safe?

Watch and see – that is, if you can focus beyond my angelic halo-glow. Why am I in front of the bright window, and only in one corner of the camera? Oh, the beguiling mysteries of my ways…

Will she survive? from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

Obviously, I blogged today. So yes, I lived. And a mighty congratulations to those of you who succeeded in watching these videos while at work. Lord knows that’s where I’m posting from.

Dear Self,
You’ve made it to your 26th birthday without winding up dead, pregnant, or in jail – congratulations! As your friend Joel once told you, and you have now adopted as your occasional motto, “It could be worse.” Ah, the negative spin on a positive idea… you have always excelled at such sentiments.

So much has happened since your 25th birthday one year ago. Most significantly, you packed up your little Honda and left your beloved home in Seattle. Even though you were excited for the adventure ahead and put on a brave and buoyant front, you were terrified. The unknown has always been an uncomfortable place for you, and when you left Seattle in September of 2007, you had absolutely no way of knowing what the impending months would hold.

Little did you know, the coming year was going to rule.

You drove through 30 states. You climbed some Rocky Mountains. You saw old friends, and met new ones. You snarfled your nephews. You charmed a snake on the streets of Austin. You attended various weddings and parties. You ran a 5K. You sat in the cockpit of a Navy plane. You saw both the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans. You ate Lebanese food in Washington, D.C., and cheeseburgers in Alabama, and tapas in Boston, and seafood on an island off the coast of South Carolina. You gained weight. You lost weight. You gained weight. You lost weight. Get used to it. You saw the Appalachian Mountains. You crunched through crimson and orange and golden leaves. You saw “The Lion King” on Broadway. You wrote songs. You sang. You navigated the New York subway. You hailed a cab. You planted yourself in an unknown city. You talked to strangers. You found an apartment. You rounded up an entire household’s worth of furniture. You found a job. You quit the job. You found another job. You chopped off all your hair. You earned frequent flyer miles. You established a routine. You killed the cockroaches. You caught the fireflies. You read books. You recorded some demos. You started playing shows. You met huge country stars. You met ex-convicts. You explored. You tried. You experienced.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. You cried more tears in the past 12 months than you have ever cried before. A dog barfed on the backseat of your car, and on hot days, the smell still lingers. You had your heart beaten up a couple of times. You experienced true mortification and embarrassment. You hurt people. You had no expendable income. You walked through life’s nightmares with friends. You battled depression like never before. You were disappointed. You were let down. You felt lonely. You felt ugly. You felt afraid.

But through God’s grace, you made it to this point. Now, as you look ahead at the coming year, you are faced with the same uncertainty you had a year ago. Where is this all leading? What’s the purpose? What’s going to happen? Why are you here – in this job, in this situation, in this city, in this world, in this life?

But Self, I am learning that I don’t think we ever really get the answers to those questions. We just keep walking, and keep moving, and keep living. This year, I hope you’ll ask less and listen more. Keep your sense of wonder. But don’t worry, or agonize, or work yourself into a tizzy. There is a purpose for it all, even if you never see it.

You are young. You have so much to learn. However, 26 years and 100 years are exactly the same, depending on how long you’ve lived – so embrace today as a marker of how far you’ve come. Today, you break your own record of “most consecutive days lived” – so go ahead and break your alcohol fast already! Especially because this weekend, this man:

… sent you flowers in a beer stein, which were delivered straight to your bedside.

Cheers [*clink*],
Me. Or, um… You.

Driving flies past when you have a purpose. Yesterday, my purpose was to get from Nashville to Kansas City in time for my nephew Micah’s 4th birthday party.

I cannot believe that he is 4. I cannot believe that it has been 4 years since the cold night when I stood on the sidewalk outside the Guild Theater in Seattle and listened to a message from my mom, telling me that he was here. The introduction of Micah and Tyler into the Parsons family has set my heart on a carnival ride, and made me aware of just how much love I am capable of.

If I love my nephews this much, how much more will I love my own children? There is no way to comprehend it.

Micah and Tyler are obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine. Now, that’s all well and good… if you like pansy trains with British accents. I knew that Micah would be receiving plenty of Thomas paraphernalia from others, and I wanted to get him something flashy, something bold, something rad. And when I found a REMOTE CONTROL TARANTULA… well…

Micah’s Tarantula from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

The birthday boy with his Auntie Rah Rah:

Then Micah got the camera and snapped a shot:

And of course, these boys could only come from two majestic human beings:
It is good to be a part of the Parsons family. Right, Micah and Tyler? You’ll learn…

As my 25th birthday draws to a close, my heart feels very full. I have felt so celebrated over the past several days: multiple gatherings with friends, delicious food and drink, red dresses aplenty, wonderful gifts from my family, and this afternoon, a tumultuous boating outing that left me with my head hanging over the deck in the “almost barfing” position for several hours. How quickly I forget the cold sweat and uncontrollable shaky hands that accompany nausea – and how rapidly I am reminded that it is absolutely the worst feeling in the entire world. Except, perhaps, having my hand blown off by a grenade – that would probably be worse. But how very bourgeois to have the opportunity to “go boating”! Just one more thing to add to the list of “reasons I am stark raving mad to be leaving Seattle.”

Looking ahead to what the coming year might bring, I’ll admit that I am increasingly freaked out. It is incredibly uncomfortable to have no stable plan, and to not have a set “itinerary” to share with the people in my life. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I don’t know when I’m coming back. I have no idea what the hell I am doing, except “going”; what that entails is yet to be determined.

A now ex-boyfriend once told me that he could not be in a relationship with me because I was “too much of a wild card.” In a scene straight out of Dawson’s Creek, I responded with a set jaw and a resolute, “You know what? I hope I’m always a wild card, because that means I will always be open to whatever it is that God has for me,” and proceeded to peel out in my Honda. For all of the drama involved in that exchange, I have held fast to those words. I hope I am never too comfortable. God forbid that I settle into the humdrum of an immovable life and routine, simply for the sake of safety and convenience.

You cannot learn to swim on the shore, and you cannot swim laps in the kiddie pool. Life is meant to be lived in the depth and width and breadth of God’s fullness. This involves taking chances and being risky and putting your heart out there with no promise of it being returned to you in the same original condition.

But it helps to know that no matter what – no matter if I fall flat on my face, if I go bankrupt, if the feelings are unrequited, if the dreams are popped as effortlessly as bubbles in the air – my worth remains the same. I am loved infinitely and unfalteringly. And so are you. No matter what happens in life, we are a precious and beloved creation – and nothing will ever change that.

So don’t worry. Take the risk. Say the words. Live big. Love. That’s my own personal hope for this year, the year of 25, the hottest thus far.