Turning twenty-eight was my hardest birthday. It was around then that I started bleaching my hair until I looked like Princess Elza, got eyelash extensions, and started thinking it was time for Botox. Twenty-nine was all about turning the focus to a healthier version of me. That’s probably why the scary 3-0 didn’t feel so bad. Thirty actually brought the acceptance that growing up looks different for everyone.
I thought for sure by thirty I would be a grown up, which in my mind meant having a husband, a couple of children, a cozy house with ample space for throwing big holiday parties… And yet, I live a life I’m obsessed with, sans husband and children. I do adore my 1904 house, but it certainly doesn’t look like the “ample space for throwing big holiday parties” house. Oh, and I still watch Disney cartoons, AND love all things superheros.
I could say all day that this life is better than the one I imagined at thirty, but that would not be true. This life is simply different. I believe I love it so much because 99% of the time I’m not comparing this life to what I thought my life would be like. I can’t imagine how miserable I would be otherwise.
My life at 30: I work hard, I drink more water, I get more sleep, I take collagen pills, multivitamins, read more, live a life of work/life balance, and I absolutely have dessert all the time, because it makes me happy.
This past week I went on two hikes, both very challenging, and I made it to the top. As a born-and-raised city girl, hiking was something I never thought I could, or would do, and yet, here I am. There’s a sense of pride as I write this. I did it.
August is around the corner, and with it, my 31st birthday. Cheers to that!