I’ve never been the type of person who loves celebrating birthdays. I always found it kind of depressing to see another year pass by (mostly because I usually haven’t accomplished all the things I hoped I would in that time).
This year is a little different, though.
Tonight is not only the night before my birthday … It’s also the last night of my 20s.
It’s so crazy to think that I’m finishing up not only another year of my life, but an entire decade.
I wish I had something really profound to say about turning 30, but I really don’t. I just kind of can’t believe it. I mean, I don’t feel like I’m 30. I guess I really don’t know what 30 is supposed to feel like, but I imagine I should feel a little more settled than I actually do … Maybe a little more comfortable in my own skin.
I’m trying not to be completely depressed about turning 30, but it’s really hard. I wanted to accomplish so much more by this point in my life. I’m nervous about completely superficial things like the tiny lines I’m starting to see around my eyes and whether or not my metabolism is going to suddenly say, “Fuck you!” It’s starting to sink in that if Eric and I are going to have children, we have to do it pretty soon because, you know, biological clocks are a real thing.
It’s not all bad, though.
I’ve definitely grown a lot since my early 20s. You know when you’re young and think everyone is completely full of shit when they say “You’ll understand when you’re older?” Well, they’re not completely full of shit. I definitely don’t know everything, but that’s kind of the point: when you’re 20, you think you know everything. When you’re 30, you realize you really don’t. You also realize that’s okay.
And, if nothing else, I get to spend my birthday (and the rest of my life) with this guy: