So here I am – entering my 30’s this coming Tuesday. I’m a mere decade away from the average mid-life marker. My past decade felt pretty long, but I get the feeling time will only go by faster now. Do you remember when summers used to last forever and holidays still felt fresh and new? Yeah, I’m starting to forget, too. At 30 I think I’m likely in the same place as the majority of the human race – not quite where I expected to be. I probably should have written one of those “In 10 years I will be…” when I was 20, but I didn’t, so here we are. I’m not even sure what I would have said.
At 20 I was straddling the line between hoping I’d find that special someone to have a few kiddos with and resigning myself to the fact that I was going to be Bridget Jones pre-Mr. Darcy for the rest of my life. Perhaps some writing, a few cats, and a lot of alcohol. I’m honestly much more feminist than this; I swear I wasn’t completely hung up on finding a fella. But it was a factor when planning my next steps. And then I just so happened to find my fella that very year and things took their course. I became so comfortable with life at that point that I think I left ambition by the wayside. (I never had much of it anyway, so it was easy to misplace.)
In my wildest dreams, what did I ever hope to become? Starting from childhood on up I believe I juggled the following aspirations: nurse, librarian, actress, teacher, journalist, writer, designer. Have I become any of those? No. Did I dabble in any of those? Some. Which I suppose is a start and I do believe that I have made great strides in the past year to actually “make something of myself” as it were. I feel like I am actually on a professional track and moving in a reasonable direction and doing pretty well at it. I may not be the wunderkind my mother always made me think I was, but neither am I the complete failure my emo young adult self always tried to make me think I was.
There is a balance in my life and I am continuing to grow. Every day. I can tell. It may not be happening as quickly as I’d like or as easy as I want, but there is improvement. I’m not even sure I’d like 20 or even 25 year old me anymore. She’s okay, but she’s also pretty selfish and lost. I don’t feel as bad as all that anymore, which is nice. But I am going to channel that self-absorbedness right now in order to propel me through this upcoming birthday with a list of 30 things I am proud of accomplishing in my past 30 years. I didn’t manage to make my 30 pounds lost before 30 goal (did get to 17, though!), so we might as well broaden the field as far as triumphs go. Cause this Peter Pan complex of mine isn’t just going to let me slip quietly into my 30’s, no matter how stoically I may attempt to do so. I’ll kick and scream and pout a bit, so let’s remind me of what all I have managed to do so I can better see what I might fulfill in my future.