Today I turn 30.
When I was a kid, 30 seemed impossibly old. Everything did. The future was, seemingly, far away. But now it’s here.
As this birthday approached, in my mind I started putting far more weight on it that it deserves. Am I where I expected to be? Did I accomplish everything I wanted to by my thirtieth birthday? And other stupid questions.
This past year has been one of great change for me. Things have not turned out the way I thought they would, but that’s actually a wonderful thing. I have achieved things I never set out to achieve. I live in a place I never expected to live, and I love it. I’ve got the support of family and friends and a lot to be thankful for. Things are good.
Look. Time is a construct, “a big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff.” We get older every day and once a year make a big hoo hah over it; once a decade we make an even bigger one. If you asked me five years ago what it meant to be in my twenties I wouldn’t have known what to say. Because who cares?
One thing I’m conscious of as I get older is my own cynicism. I’m not the most cynical person I know by any means, but I know that I sometimes come off as someone who only sees the bad side of things.1 That’s something I’d like to work to correct over the next year, the next decade, and beyond. The world is too big and too full of wonder for me to only see the negative.
I’m excited for 30. I’m ready for the next challenge. But thank goodness 40 is a long way off.
Some might call this “being a dick.” ↩︎