Our theme for the month of March is “How to.”

On Wednesday, I will celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Three decades ago, on an overcast and cold Sunday afternoon, I was sent out on this strange and wonderful adventure of being alive. Because of the under-thirty requirement of writing for the post calvin, this birthday has loomed larger with each passing post, especially as the ranks of 2016 graduates has dwindled.  When I started writing six years ago (this month!) there were many other writers with ‘16 at the end of their name—one by one though, they have moved on to other work and joy.

I am an elder in few communities, but as one here, I hope you’ll allow me to share a few reflections about how to start and end a decade well which I think can be summed in two moments: reflection and intention.

Reflection: What have you learned?

During our weekly date night, Patrick asked me about the greatest learning of my twenties. Of course I thought of many lessons, often learned the hard way, but they all summed to these: we don’t have to do it alone, and it’s going to be okay.

My teens were lonely years, which stoked my natural propensity for independence, but as I turned into my twenties, I learned quickly that relationships are the marrow of being alive and we need them. More than that, I learned that relationships are built on mutual reliance—you have to allow yourself to be vulnerably on the receiving end of care, support, and concern to have a truly reciprocal, healthy relationship. Getting sick at twenty-four powerfully expedited this learning and made the deep human capacity for love real to me, as friends and family walked patiently and gently with me for the five years it would take to return to full health.

That experience of getting so sick, of nearly losing everything I had hoped for in adulthood: independence, a fulfilling career, the opportunity to date and marry also helped me to see how we can find our way back to joy, even from the very darkest places. I am grateful to have learned this early, as I know more moments of darkness must and will come. I hold this belief close: the whole of creation is tipped ever so slightly in our favor. Not overwhelmingly, not overtly, but taken completely, it seems to me that life tips towards goodness.

Intention: What will you do with all you have learned?

Every year, on the night before my birthday I write in my journal. I believe in the power of setting our hopes and prayers in writing, especially when they feel too tender to speak out loud. Reading through them at the end of the year is a significant foundation of my “it’s all tipped in our favor” belief. Blessedly, this tradition means that I have also recorded the start of my teens and twenties, and let me tell you, reading the prayers, hopes, and fears of ten years ago is a powerful and fulfilling experience. To see fears resolved and dreams realized over the long arc of our lives is powerful fuel for hope.

And of course I have many hopes for this next decade, but they aren’t so much about what I will receive or what will happen to me as what I am positioned to give. At the outset of my twenties I needed a lot. I needed a lot of long talks with my parents to process my life in a new city. I needed a lot of encouragement to keep going. I needed a lot of courage, all the time, to do even little things. I needed a lot of guidance as I worked through the big decisions of building a life. But I don’t need those things so much anymore. The phone calls with my parents are more relaxed, navigating the world doesn’t require so much courage, and I don’t need so much help with decisions, because I was gifted a framework for making them wisely.

All of this means that I am now in a place to give those same things that I needed so badly to others on the road: experience, calm presence, and encouragement. This, to me, is a most purposeful outlook for my next decade. I am eager to give in my relationship with Patrick, in my efforts as a manager, in my interactions with those who are uncertain or afraid, and if it comes to be, in the raising of children. Of course, this is only possible because I learned in my twenties how to receive well—I’m a conduit of love, and I need to be filled by people and experiences and a connection to the deep goodness of creation if I am to keep giving.

Ten years ago I wrote these words: “Papa, I pray that in these ten years I would come to know you and my place as your beloved. I pray that my eyes might stay locked on you and that I would find security in your gaze. I pray that my words, actions, and thoughts would bring great joy. I pray for wisdom as I make hard decisions. I pray for truth and self grace in painful moments. I pray for an unshakeable awareness of your faithfulness when the future is frighteningly unclear. But most of all, I want desperately to hear your heart and to be shaped by its pounding.” Good words from my younger self; I think I’ll pray them again this week as I start (and end) a decade.

Ansley Kelly

Ansley Kelly (’16) makes her home in Rochester, NY, where she delights in short, sweet summers spent sailing and long winters spent skiing at her favorite mountain. Between outdoor adventures, you can find her buying books more quickly than she can read them and indulging in mid-morning naps. She works for Wegmans Food Markets where she finds purpose and joy in feeding her community and the wider world.