I think a “Congratulations!” is in order first. I mean, come on, we have made it to the all allusive thirties for crying out loud. I remember meeting friends of my parents or watching people on TV in their thirties and it just seemed so far away and unknown? Then one day, with the snap of my fingers, my thirties was on my doorstep banging down my door, snatched me up and here I am: three months a newly 30-year-old and having mixed feelings about it all. On one end, I’m patting myself on the back with a sense of pride that I’ve survived my childhood and twenties which, for lack of too many details right now, were dramatic, tumultuous and life-forming to say the least. On the other dreaded end, is that nagging, hyper-critical voice in my head that’s asking me a billion and one questions to make me take a hard long look at how my life stacks up to the “I should be” of others and societal standards.
Life is continuously in flux it seems. Once you have one area figured out and set up just how you like it, another area exhibits cracks in its foundation, then once you’ve attended to that problem area, the one you just had all figured out goes up in smoke. In other words, my life is, and always will be, under construction. Sometimes I accept that and other times I fight against it for control. In the end, it’s all just a wind-in-your-hair, straightaways, turns and dead ends kind of journey, and I’m baby proof locked in whether I like it or not. So, I better get my seatbelt on, because it’s time to experience my thirties.