Cheers to 30 Years!

Yesterday I turned 30 friggin years old and surprisingly, I’m not struggling with it as much as I thought. I’ve woken up on previous birthdays with this “what the eff am I doing with my life” feeling, but this year’s tone is much more “I have finally arrived.”

For most of my life, I have felt down on myself with the constant thought of “man, I should have this figured out by now.” I hit numerous speed bumps in my late teens + early twenties that completely threw off the big life plan I had had my entire life.

4 years of college basketball by 21.

Married by 23.

Masters by 24.

First kid by 25.

Third and final baby by 30.

Good lord… thank goodness for unanswered prayers, huh?!

What I thought THEN would encompass my life NOW was a true miscalculation, and when I was younger, I figured 25 was ‘Official Adult Age’ for sure – and that I’d be doing ‘official adult’ things… like, already live in a house and be married and have kids and a blossoming career that highlighted my talents.

Growing up, I carried around with me this naive, overwhelming notion that as long as I did everything ‘right’ this fulfilling, undramatic adulthood filled with bursting moments of clarity and freedom and fun would naturally fall into place. If I went to college, said ‘no’ to drugs, kept my eyes & ears opened, listened to authority figures (a.k.a people who ‘knew better than me’), pursued what I was naturally interested in, worked hard, stayed enthusiastic and friendly, followed rules, fell in love — all of it — if I was good, true, and did it all ‘right’ (this stupid idea of a ‘correct formula’ or ‘brownie points for good behavior’) then I would have a relatively problem-free grown-up existence of nothing but achievements and recognition of them.

I’m writing this post from a hotel bed on the weekend of my 30th birthday (very pregnant with baby #2) to tell you, dear reader, that this people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes with a heart too big for her own good, who doesn’t have a rebellious bone in her body and ‘did everything right’ has failed, squandered, felt stuck, started over more times than she can count, and is still trying to figure it out.

I think I’m one of those people who will ALWAYS be in a state of figuring it out, and it’s actually not a bad feeling. It’s scary, but it’s going to be okay, and I know I’m DEFINITELY not alone in feeling like this.

Time feels like it’s sprinting lately and I don’t want to pretend that these next years of my thirties won’t get swept up in this stampede of me trying to stay afloat, learning to be a mom of 2, figuring out the next phase of my career, and making big decisions about me + Seth + our children, and I have no idea where other adult milestones will fit in or how they will get accomplished. But, I’ll be trying to figure it out.

I’ll be trying to become the best version of myself with what I have in front of me at the time, and love my fellow humans and be at peace with the time it takes.

I need to love myself more, I know this. I always say this, but I really just have to do this. It’s the key to things not feeling so heavy, so today, I’m deciding to accept who I am, where I am, what I look like, and all of the many flaws I have. Im going to get out of my head and into my environment…look left, look right, and focus on the bigger picture of life.

So here is me and a letterboard of some current facts about myself at my birthday month-marker the way new moms do with babies their whole first year. I am 360 months old and obviously emotionally fragile and a little hangry (thanks hormones), so to swing myself the other way, here’s the ridiculousness that became that letterboard creation:

Lately, I have been trying to slow down and resist the ever-so-constant temptation of perfectionism (as a woman, wife, and mom), and I predict this to be a recurring theme of my 30s.

Lately, I’ve been doing simple, little acts of self-care that have felt like free birthday presents to myself, some of which have been: lighting more candles, eating more chocolate, giving myself more time to complete projects, reading, writing, cooking, and taking longer showers.

Cheers 30! I’m just another number, this is just another season, and I choose to count it all in joy.