From the bottom of my heart, I wanted to thank everyone for their birthday wishes!

I turned 30 and got a lot of "you're old" jokes, but that's A-OK with me. 

I remember even in my early/mid twenties my friends would moan about not feeling young anymore. They missed being 21, they missed college, they missed xyz. But...why think that way? I thought. There were some amazing times, but they weren't everything. Why live with your head swiveled backwards?

My friend Sarah put it perfectly. "I'm happy being 30. In my twenties I was a mess. I had terrible jobs and dated awful people and I was just a wreck. I feel so much better now."

Amen. I'm sure life will throw huge loops in the next few years (kids, houses, change, ah!). But isn't that the beauty of it all? That I'll even have the chance -  if  I'm lucky enough - to be blessed with more years to find out what's next?

One aspect of my twenties I'm grateful for is meeting Mike. I was 25 and an over-highlighted ball of angst. I was plaguing over something, anything, all the time. Over my "career" as a glorified lunch lady. Over what shitty apartment to move to next. I also drunkenly cried a lot, for no apparent reason. Like, in public.

Five years later, not only did he not kick me to the curb, he threw me a surprise get-together with some of my closest friends and even learned how to work an eVite!  Thank you Mike, I love you.

Okay, Pandora, I'll take it.

April 15, 2013 was my first day at my current job. It was also the first time I'd had to work Marathon Monday, since I lacked the gumption to negotiate a better start date with the recruiter.

Our office was located at the start of Boylston Street with a sliver of a view of the Boston Common. Coming from the austere hunk of ugly that was City Hall, it was a major upgrade.

That afternoon my boss knocked on my door and said, "Two bombs just went off in Copley."

Now that I am accustomed to his blunt, gruff demeanor, this makes sense. But then, I thought, "Is this guy f*cking joking?"

I stared at him dumbly for a second. Finally he shifted to his other foot and rubbed his head and said, "So, uh, go home? We're going on lockdown."

I walked back to Southie and spent my 28th birthday cooped up in my apartment with my ear glued to a police scanner and my thumb refreshing Twitter every five seconds. That evening we celebrated when that jackass was caught hiding in a Watertown boat.

This year I'll look around warily at anyone with a backpack, but the feeling will pass. I'll drink mimosas in the rain and cheer on runners and I won't cry every five minutes. Last year's race was all about embodying triumph and overcoming pain; everyone was still processing the horror that had occurred. This year, I think it will still be a time to reflect, but more a demonstration that we can truly move on and rise above.

Oh, and I'll have asked for the day off months in advance - I'm no chump. What a difference two years can make.