In just two weeks, I am going to be a 30 year old.
According to every 40-year-old and Oprah, 30 is the best year in a woman’s life. It’s the age when you magically forget all of your insecurities and stop giving a shit what other people think of you. Unfortunately, I have a feeling that is not going to be the case for me, considering I have gone to urgent care twice in the last year due to panic attacks that were so intense I stopped breathing and had stroke-like side effects. (Yes, that was on two separate occasions.)
I always thought 30 would be the age where I had it all figured out. Not to say that I don’t have it all figured out right now, I mean I’m really fucking crushing it with my zero children, lack of marriage prospects and illustrious career in Talent Management. Things are great!
I’ve spent the past decade chasing my dreams and doing whatever I wanted to do… because I could. Because I had drive and passion. Because I found something that I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I had these visions of myself as a successful writer with a great apartment full of West Elm furniture. I saw happy relationships and everything working out and nightly happy hours and weekly brunches with all of my nearest and dearest friends that are basically my family.
Then I actually lived in reality and realized everything is bullshit and the show Friends lied to me. The reality is life is hard, things don't always work out and achieving goals takes sacrifice and a lot of work. Also, I have depression, severe anxiety and a head of hair that will never do what I want when I really need it to. There’s always something missing in my life and that is what I will always focus on. So that sucks. The more I age, the more I realize that I literally have no control over anything at all.
What a fun world we live in!
Yet, whether I like or not, I’m forging forward into 30 with my hands up and my guard down. And honestly, I’m feeling pretty hopeful. The past decade has been great, awful, wonderful, terrible, all the adjectives - and somehow it’s shaped a pretty level-headed, albeit constantly emotional, ball of crazy. I’m going to take it easier on myself. I’m going to lower my expectations and put less pressure on myself to check every life goal off my list. I’m going to go with the flow and see where life takes me instead of forcing it to be wonderful and perfect all the time.
Because I’m fucking 30… and I’m too old for this fucking shit.
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