30 Days of 30: Sarah Berkowitz

Sarah Berkowitz is another one of those superheroes. Her contributions to the Wooden Shoe as treasurer, zine orderer, among other roles, have invaluably helped to make the collective what it is today. Sarah is one of the smartest and most inspiring activists I have met in Philadelphia. Hopefully one day we’ll carve out some time in both of our busy schedules to finally make that Hole cover band, that we’ve dreamed about for so long, become a reality.

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This weekend I went to the Chicago Zine Fest. I left Philly around 3pm on Thursday and I drove through the night with my partner, Ryan. I’m 29 now. I have been involved in zines for about half my life. Many of the things that were important to me when I was younger are still a big part of my identity. Feminism, anarchism, veganism, social justice, reproductive rights have all been a pretty big part of my life for the past 10 years. These have been my anchors when everything else was in turmoil throughout my 20’s. 

I have been thinking about turning 30 for about a year. It is on my mind a lot. Especially because a lot of the things I am interested in attract younger folks. It feels good to have experience and to feel grounded in that experience. But sometimes I crave more peers my own age that are interested in the same projects I am interested in.

When I was a teenager I never really thought about life after college. I had no specific goals of marriage or a full-time job.  I had little aspirations for life rituals. I spent a lot of my early 20’s crying and feeling sad. Things constantly felt hard- relationships, friendships, and jobs. I stayed in bad situations for too long. When I was 24 I got what I thought could be a dream job. I became manager at a Planned Parenthood surgical center. It was a nightmare. I felt lost. Every full-time job I had had after college wrecked me. I had no idea how to advocate for myself so I stayed miserable in horrible work situations. These patterns were mirrored in a lot of my personal relationships as well.

I spent the second half of my 20s making drastic changes. I quit my job, went to therapy, traveled, spent summers biking around and swimming in fountains. I started staffing at the Wooden Shoe. I took risks, put myself out there and learned a lot of new skills. Eventually I morphed into someone that was pretty sassy and assertive. 

I haven’t had a full-time job in 3 years. I’ve been taking classes to go back to school for nursing and working various part time jobs. I still feel weary about striving for a full-time career. I know that jobs are never going to be satisfying or fulfilling completely. I would choose not to work if I didn’t have to. What satisfies me the most are the projects I don’t get paid for. I like feeling connected to the things I have felt passionate for in my youth. I don’t want to give up my radical ideals. I feel a sense of pride that I am still connected to anarchism and feminism and vegetarianism. I have seen so many people give up on these things over the years. It can be really disheartening. 

When I was 18, someone told me that one of the members of the band Submission Hold got a circle-A tattoo when he turned 30. I thought that was so cool! Everyone gets punk and anarchy tattoos when they first get into it but to get it when you are 30 means that you have sat with these things and let them become a part of your life. You are in it for the long haul.

With that in mind, I have been planning to enter my thirtieth year with an event I have been calling 30 days of 30. I want to plan an event for my 30^th year for 30 days around my actual birthday on Sept 28^th. September tends to be a strange month and personally there have been some major losses around my birthday so I would really like to reclaim this time of year. I expect to use some of those days to get tattoos that I have been talking about getting for 10 years.

When I think about being 30, I finally feel like I am a grown up. I feel ready to buy a house and move in with a partner, to move across the country, and to think about having kids. When I was in college the first time I never cut class or took a lot of risks. I had a lot of insecurities.  I’m an adult now, so I’m confident that cutting class to drive to Chicago for a zine fest to see a Q & A with Aaron Cometbus and Al Burian is the right thing to be doing with my weekend. Cometbus zine also turns 30 this year. It was comforting to hear Aaron Cometbus say, “Some people have kids, I’ve been doing a magazine for 30 years.” It is ok to stick with what you know.

Not Too Old for the Hostel: Lia B.

I met Lia B. through the Wooden Shoe, but only briefly. The last time I saw her was actually on her 30^th birthday in Center City Philadelphia. It was late February of this year, and I had just left a labor solidarity rally across from city hall with a couple other friends from the Shoe. We ran into Lia as she was leaving the building where she works for a much-needed break. We wished her a happy birthday and James told her about my project. Lia seems like a great person with a committed passion for both animal and human liberation, and adventure.

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I had always figured by 30 years old I would be tired of the shenanigans that defined my youth, but it seems like not only am I not tired of it, I don’t know how to out grow it. I have a somewhat serious job. I have an amazing little bulldog mix that I have miraculously kept fed and homed for 3 years, and a completely disgusting collection of travel souvenirs that I really should just get rid of (would anyone want a sand "snow" globe from morocco, or a volcanic rock from Iceland?).  But while I am proud of my work ethic, alcohol tolerance, cooking skills, and dog mommy-ing abilities, does that really fit the popular conceptualization of "adult"? Somehow I doubt it...

Recently when on my 5th stay in Barcelona I wondered out loud to the friends I was traveling with, "When are you too old to stay in a hostel?" We looked around and saw young tattooed Irish guys puking into garbage pails, various Barca soccer fans - fresh off the Malaga win- running through the hostel screaming for their team, beautiful college girls from Portugal shrieking from the sight, and random fornicators making everyone feel awkward. My two friends said out loud, "Should we have just paid for a hotel?" I felt comfortable and at home in that environment, but it made me stop and think: Adults don’t stay at places like this. Am I going to be that odd 50 year old women, still going on vacation with a back pack and vans, looking for squats somewhere, carrying powdered soy milk and a stash of cliff bars? 

My parents worry about me. They ask me when I'm going to get married, constantly. They ask me when I'm going to buy a home. When am I going to "settle down"? When am I going to wear clothes that match? When am I going to look back and realize that all of this procrastinating on "growing up" has stultified my life? Don’t I want to accomplish these "goals" society/ my parents/ my peers have all accepted as the norm? Or do I want to dust off my backpack, put my sneakers on, and ride my bike around Cambodia this fall?

30 to me, right now, is self actualization. My life has been a quirky, awkward journey, filled with music, passion, rage, food, alcohol, metrocards, passport stamps, broken bones, and soy products. I have been so lucky to be surrounded by loving friends and family at every turn. Maybe I don’t want to be the weirdo who is "too old for the hostel" but I definitely want to keep my adventurous spirit. I don’t think growing up means giving up, settling for anything, or ceasing to have fun, but I do think the expectations associated with growing up do not work for me.

At 30 I have accomplished more than I could ever imagine, and done things I have only dreamed of. I have kept my priorities of social justice and animal rights, and even while working in a capitalistic industry, I have remained true to myself and to my work, conducting business with an honest candor that might not be as commonplace as it should. I have been realizing that while I am older and hopefully wiser, I don’t have to change myself to fit my birthday. Maybe I will never "grow up" as most people imagine, but I will always be changing, learning, and enjoying as much as I can.

The Big 3-0: Melissa Reed

When I lived in Northampton, MA I had a dear friend that wouldn't come visit me at the cafe where I worked. "I don't want to see you like that. I want to see you dancing," Liz explained. When I think of Melissa Reed, who I also met in Northampton, I imagine her in that state of freedom, dancing the night away. Melissa is one of the sweetest and most honest people I know. I'm excited for her dance into a new era of life; thriving, and free.  
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I feel like I’m getting younger and wiser.

My 30^th birthday is only two months away. It has been weighing heavily on my mind. The thing is I grew up too fast. I’ve been independent for a long time (or so that’s what people tell me). Definitely far too responsible.

I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire. My parents found God around the time I turned four. They sent me to a private Christian School from Kindergarten to 8^th grade. Then, thanks to my sister’s learning disabilities, we both got to go to a public high school.

Since I can remember, I was required to go to church every Sunday. Missing a week was not an option. “If you’re too sick for church, then you’re too sick to hang out with your friends,” my parents said. So I went. I didn’t always dislike church. It was something we did every Sunday, just like eating dinner together as a family. But over time I started to feel like a hypocrite. I didn’t want to go anymore.

Growing up, my parents never encouraged me to reach for my dreams, never encouraged me to go to college. I never even thought of it as an option. To be honest, I’m not sure my parents even believed that I could. Since I was kid, my parents have filled me with so much doubt. They never trusted me to do the right thing. Throughout my adolescence, my parents taught me to fear; to fear the world, to fear people I didn’t know, above all to fear the unknown.

In high school, when I had the option of choosing my classes, I always picked the easy ones. I didn’t apply myself. I knew that I was cheating myself by taking easy classes, but what did it matter? I didn’t know what I was good at anyways. What were my passions? I didn’t know that, either. I couldn’t envision any kind of future for myself outside of my house, but by that time I knew I couldn’t live with my parents any longer.

At age seventeen, in my junior year of high school, I ran away. My parents had given me an ultimatum: go to church or we’ll take away your car and your driver’s license. I turned in the keys to my boxy Ford Festiva and headed for Vermont. 

Dropping out of school wasn’t really part of my plan. I just needed to get away from my parents. I tried to enroll in a high school in Vermont, but that didn’t pan out because I was still a minor and not a tax-paying resident. The following months were very challenging. I survived mainly through perseverance and the kindness of strangers. I tried renting a room from a friend, only to have my rent money stolen. After that, I lived with my boyfriend at the time in a tent beside the Connecticut River. (This my parents really didn’t understand; my mom said, “if you like camping so much, why don’t you set up a tent in the backyard.") From there, I moved around more, worked anyplace that would hire me: gas stations, pizzas joints, supermarkets.

Since I left home, I have been trying to find my way in this big scary world that my parents taught me to fear. I have been living in Massachusetts for the last twelve years now and working at a supermarket, whose name I won’t mention, for eleven. I hadn’t intended on staying where I am so long. It just happened. I started off working third shift stocking shelves because the pay was good. Eventually I moved to days, and from there into a managerial position.

My job has it perks. I have sick days, personal days, a good health insurance plan. Starting next year, I’ll be up to four weeks of paid vacation. Over the years, I’ve been able travel to places like New Zealand, Spain, France and Guatemala. I have a 401K. I should be happy, right? I’m on the right track. I have a silver 2005 Toyota Matrix that I bought brand new and paid off in less than four years. I probably have enough money saved for a down payment on a house.

But my job doesn’t make me happy. It’s the same thing day in and day out. The work is repetitive, mind numbing. I don’t feel satisfied. I want to use my mind. I’ve been there too fucking long. I feel trapped. 

Recently, I realized that the only way to change my life is to believe in myself and make that change happen. So that’s why, just shy of thirty, I’ve been putting myself out there, trying new things. I’m taking Spanish classes. I learned to knit. I’ve made myself a resume and looked into career counseling. I’m even seriously thinking about enrolling in a community college, which is a really, really big deal for me. For the first time in years, I can see a future for myself, a bright one full of hope and possibility. Lots of people are intimidated about turning the big 3-0, but I’m excited! For me, it feels like a new beginning.