Is this real life?
Last Tuesday, I woke up early and checked my phone to see what time it was. Yup, I’d officially completed three decades of living. I rolled back over onto my pillow and did a quick mental scan.
Actually, I felt like me. I still liked glitter, and hadn’t suddenly acquired a taste for Meet the Press. For a minute, I started to wonder if maybe my parents and the people at the hospital and Social Security Administration had gotten my birthdate wrong all those years. Pretty unlikely, though, since I remembered a lot of stuff that had happened since at least the early nineties. If I hadn’t yet made it to 30, I was pretty darn close.
So . . . what now?
The truth is, I’m not really any different than I was a week ago at 29. Now, though, I realize that I’ve kind of been a “real” grown-up for a while (I’ve had gray hair since my teens and perfected the “get off my lawn” mentality a loooong time ago). In all seriousness, though . . . 30 is such a strange place to see myself, since the same girl who watched The Little Mermaid and listened to *NSYNC on repeat is still here. Okay, maybe I’ve moved on to La La Land and Taylor Swift, but the overall idea is pretty much the same.
Thirty should not come with a stigma. If anything, we should celebrate each year we’re blessed with. Whether that’s 30 years, 50 years, or 100 years, why aren’t we looking at each milestone as a gift? I could wish to be a kid my whole life, but then I’d never have anything to look forward to.
So far, I’m taking this new decade one reality check at a time. Sometimes, I remember where I am and feel humbled by the reality that time is fleeting. Sometimes, I’m nostalgic for a number that will never come back. But most of the time, I don’t really think about it at all and I just go on living.
I hope you fall in love with where you’re at today.
xoxo,
Top and bottom photos by Walt Disney World Photopass Photographers. Middle photo by me.
