I just turned 30. Yes, the big 30, the scary 30, the old 30.
Am I old now? I don’t really know what I am supposed to be feeling. I’ve heard so many times people freaking out over these two numbers put together. I should be settled by now right? Be well in a successful career and perhaps having engendered tiny humans… 30 is so round and serious and adult. I don’t know.
I don’t know what to think of the whole birthday concept actually. I have never particularly liked celebrating my birthday; to me, it’s only another day in the year, one when I get more attention drawn to myself for no purposeful reason, which is not my favorite thing. But I think I understand why people lose their calm over such a number. 30 is a big turning point in the natural cycle of life. At 30, we’re certainly no longer young adults; we actually are right into the heat of adulthood, where things happen and stuff gets done. There is a huge social pressure, I feel, around where we should be, how we should be, who we should be with at 30. Like 30 was a magical number when every little piece of the super intricate puzzle that life is should be right in place.
Where did you imagine you would be when you turned 30? Or, where do you think you’ll be when you reach that milestone?
I, for one, had absolutely no idea I would be an international Yoga teacher, Reiki master healer, words writer, animal defender, MS warrior, wife living in sunny California. If someone had told me that 10 years ago, I would have thought that they’re straight weirdos (Now I’m the weirdo, HA). Back in the days of my ancient life, maybe I caressed the thought of being a very important marketing manager for a big glamorous famous brand of high end clothes, living in a sophisticated condo, driving a slick car and being a young mama of a tiny human. Maybe. I don’t quite remember. What I know is that this dream of a big career and everything that goes with it has long faded away. I realize now that it wasn’t even my dream, but, more so, the dream that society started to infiltrate into my brain from a very young age.
This 30 years old vision I once had was only nourished by medias and advertisements and preconceived ideas of what a successful life must look like. It was in no way related to my values, or my priorities, or my life mission. I don’t think anyone or anything should get a say in what 30 must look like for people, not even ourselves. I know that many people plan their whole life ahead and have specific objectives for specific years, but why? Why would life need to be all laid out beforehand, and therefore leaving no space for spontaneity, no room for obstacles or turnaround? What happens, then, if tragedy strikes or things don’t go as planned? To me, it is a sure path to disappointment and “failure”, whatever that means.
Life doesn’t follow a straight path, it is not always well organized and it cannot be predicted. Life is strange and capricious and surprising, that’s what makes it beautiful. Learning to go with its tumultuous flow is the greatest gift we can get ourselves.
I noticed my first grey hair at 19, got married and moved to a different country at 25, stopped wearing makeup at 27 and got diagnosed with a chronic illness at 29. I have been figuring myself and that whole weird event that life is out non stop ever since… I was born, I guess. It is an ongoing process that will hopefully never ever stop, until my present life stops. Aging doesn’t scare me anymore and not fitting in the special success defining mold neither. I don’t let myself be defined by this age and I don’t try to relate to it either.
30 is not a reflection of who I am. It is not a reflection of where I should be nor is it a witness of where I have been. 30, and any other number for that matter, is not meant to define us. We are more than a number. And age, old or young, doesn’t matter at all. What matters is what we choose to do within these markers of time passing by.
How old are you and what are you doing with your time?