I am thirty today. It is July 8, 2021. Currently I’m in pajamas as I type this, having had a lot of a sweet breakfast and big bear hugs from my older brother. Thunderstorms are coming in this afternoon, so a trip to the museum may have to be put on hold. It’s fair enough, given driving in the rain is not fun. (On that note, please stay safe if you are in the area for Elsa to hit, because she doesn’t look like fun, and make sure you have water and working flashlights.)
In all honesty, each birthday brings something different to the table, and that is fear. More time is passing, and the sense that one can easily waste all of those hours or minutes. Yet its’ not a waste if one has fun, or has found new ways to add things to the year.
My brain reminds me that I have accomplished more than quite a few people my age, with a webcomic from college, seven speculative fiction books published, and a few short stories in pro publications regarding speculative fiction.
Thirty, we’re taught that when we hit this milestone, our life is over. You need to be married or settled with a partner, ideally with a job that you love. We want to make it big and hit success at this juncture. Society emphasizes that, with prodigy success stories and authors with book deals at a young age.
My wiser friends say that turning thirty isn’t the end of your life. On the contrary, it’s the opposite. You get some new beginnings and introspection. It’s a time when you can keep exploring, and not give up what you love just because it’s considered “childish”.
Tomorrow things will feel the same. I hope the introspection comes with it.