Thirty.

This is my favourite photo of me. I was 28. It was taken at a time in my life that was in terrible turmoil and I was experiencing a great deal of emotional pain, and, for some reason, this small portrait from a difficult time is so very beautiful.

It serves, sometimes, as a reminder, that even in the face of the greatest adversity, there are small moments of beauty, which are worth acknowledging. I wasn't a Buddhist then, but as a Buddhist now, it makes sense as there is Buddhahood in every moment - even the awful ones. We just need to go find it. And often, we only get to see it in retrospect

When I got to thirty, I had already been married, divorced, lived in four different countries, had my dream job, lost my dream job, survived an abusive relationship and came out of the closet.

I had realised that none of what I believed to be true for my life was  true. I walked away from the Catholic Church and was spiritually drifting. Still a little shell shocked from the experiences I had had, I was cautious in the world, yet determined to reclaim every single ounce of my power and to rediscover who I was.

I lived in a little village called Greetham in rural England. It was idyllic and calming and just the thing to help me calm down and return to myself after a rather eventful decade.

I realised that I knew nothing about life and the world and that was okay. The smug Catholic I once was, who thought that all the answers were found in the Bible, was gone. I had a clean slate. I could become anyone I wanted to be, and still make mistakes and still know nothing, but it would all be okay.

I had an eccentric group of new friends. I was reading books on spirituality and finding one's purpose and getting past trauma. Even though the years leading up to thirty were harrowing, thirty itself was a good year to just take stock of my life and the direction I wanted it to go. I still had no idea what that was, though. I still don't, even now.