This year I officially dropped into the almost thirty category, and contrary to pop culture, it hasn’t been a hard pill to swallow– just don’t ask me about twenty-seven. Turning almost thirty has been rather liberating actually.
In my early twenties, life was all about adventure and discovery. I relished taking risks, pushing my own limits, and finding myself. I was adventurous with a budding confidence that felt like it had been dormant for so many years waiting for just the right opportunity to fade in.
As time went on life became more complicated. I had children and married and bought a house. I experienced true loss for the first time in my life, saying goodbye to twin babies, my stepmom, and my dad all within a few years of each other. I finished college, pierced and tattooed my skin, and got my first real corporate job.
At almost thirty, I have experienced a lot that has helped define me and my beliefs. It was like finding myself, and then figuring out how to love that person.
I could say that being this age has given me the somewhat cliche things like my “don’t give a fuck” attitude or my tenacity or my fierce independence, and, yes, I have become those things, but almost thirty is so much bigger than that.
Almost thirty has taught me when to say enough. For me, almost thirty has meant learning when to quit and when to stay the course, when to give up gracefully and when to fight. I am better at saying no, and I’m better at pushing myself to do the hard things when quitting just isn’t in the cards. You could even say my endurance has improved from cranking out lemonade from all these lemons life has handed me.
At almost thirty I’m living my life and totally owning it, the good and the bad, and for the first time, I can see my imperfections as opportunities instead of flaws with my strengths being like the oars of a canoe helping me push myself forward.