30th Birthdays. It might sound scary, but I still remember my parents'! I was six, and remember kicking a football across our farmyard with my dad's university friends, eating far too much cake and laughing for what seemed like forever as my brother, sister and I were chased by a very funny man named Kev! It was hilarious and memorable.
I went to my second 30th Birthday party ever last weekend, and it was great. One of my friends had reached the grand old age, and had organised a really great evening over in the Wirral, with some awesome food, good activities and lovely people.
Towards the start of the night, I received a phone call from my housemate. He told me that our house had been broken into. They stole some stuff, and I was pretty gutted. As much as I tried to put a brave face on it, as we got in the car to go home, the reality dawned on me - I was going back to face a scenario which I dreaded.
Yet I wished I was there. My heart was beating faster as we got ever closer, the car chewing up the M53 as we drove towards the ringroad. I had an irrational urge to assess the damage, fix the problems and turn things around. And yet amidst it all was the knowledge that I was powerless. I could not do anything. Resignation entered my soul, and I sat with the cold energy saving light bulb shining with sterility in the middle of our front room. Burgled. Our stuff was gone, our home felt empty, open and vulnerable.
And I realised something. We live in this sterile place. It's not morbid blog, so it'll warm up in a second! We live in these tensions all the time: wanting to be there, but dreading what we'll find, if only we were really, truly honest with ourselves. If only we were prepared to sit under that light bulb in all it's unflattering glory and stare at the painful truth that we cannot do it ourselves. We need help. We're all on this journey, but the street lights guide the way, and we journey with friends. Let's be unafraid.
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