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Thirty is the first of many birthdays we learn to dread. It means we must kiss our duty-free twenties goodbye, and embrace all the harsh expectations and incessant responsibilities that come with being in this new decade. All of a sudden, crop tops and impromptu fast food trips past midnight are unacceptable, and we must start thinking about things like IRAs, home improvements, and a skincare routine that will thank us later. Hangovers intensify. Calories accumulate. Energy subsides. We tell ourselves that our best years are behind us. But what if this is just an absurd story we tell ourselves? What if the best is yet to come?
Being in your twenties is filled with magical moments worth writing about. It is not uncommon for this decade to have us falling in love, getting pregnant, adopting a puppy, exploring a new hobby, building a career, traveling the world, or purchasing a starter home. It is the decade of discovery. But, if our twenties are made for discovering, then our thirties must be made for accomplishing. Not because society tells us we must be accomplished, but because we have a much greater sense of who we are and what we want out of life and, therefore, are far more likely to actually achieve our goals.
If you’re in your thirties and aren’t ready to have a baby, that’s okay. If you’re in your thirties and feel dissatisfied with your career, that’s okay. If you’re in your thirties and renting property rather than buying, that’s okay. If you’re in your thirties and have roommates so you can afford your rent, that’s okay. If you’re in your thirties and rely on side hustles to pay your bills, that’s okay. If you’re in your thirties and single, that’s okay, too. In fact, it’s all more than okay. It’s great. So long as you are happy, keep doing what you’re doing. If you aren’t, then guess what? You’re still young enough to make a change. That is, perhaps, the best thing about being thirty, I realized. You are still bold enough to chase your dreams, but bright enough to bring them to fruition. Read that one more time if you need to.
People seem to respect your opinion more when you’re in your thirties. You’re wiser than you were in your twenties, and yet you’re somehow painfully aware of all you have yet to learn – a realization that only continues to grow. You also stop needing to win all the time. You start seeing victories in your self-care routine or in the books you read. You stop caring so much about what people think of you because your own self-worth becomes priceless.
When I turned thirty this year, I didn’t handle it as well as I had hoped. I went out and bought a red-light-therapy wand to help keep any future fine lines or wrinkles at bay. I started doing crunches religiously, eating organic, listening to podcasts, asking my boss for a promotion, and walking into random open houses in my neighborhood that had for sale signs puncturing their front lawns. I even got Lasik so that I didn’t need to wear prescription lenses anymore. Not to mention, I started harassing my boyfriend of five years about when he planned on proposing to me, if ever. The final thing I did was get myself a therapist because I figured it was time to start thinking about my future kids and all the ways I could be the best mom to them. I might have gone a little overboard, but what I realized was that it wasn’t even society, my friends, or my family that was putting all this pressure on me. It was Me.
The proposal, the promotion, the property, and the offspring, will come when the moment is right. The problem with rushing our timeline is that we set ourselves up for disappointment and forget that sometimes things work out even better than we had originally hoped. Then, we do ourselves an even greater disservice by forgetting to enjoy what could be our final moments of freedom. We will never be this unobligated again, but rather than basking in this truth, we focus on our fear of aging or impending responsibilities instead. It feels like such a waste. Plus, I’d been told by my eighty-three-year-old grandmother that, although your body ages, you remain the same inside. You never quite feel like your age. So, why bother adopting any new role at all unless it will bring us happiness?
Every passing moment, we’re getting older. That in itself is a privilege. When I consider how many greats died young, how many under-thirties had their most pivotal years stripped away before their time, I realize how lucky I am to live another day. It even makes the inevitable invasion of silver hair more welcomed. What an honor.
Thirty is just a number. So is forty. So is fifty. So is eighty. How we feel is what matters. And how we impact one another and the world is what stands the test of time.
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Photo by Johannes W on Unsplash
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