When you’re a kid in school, you can’t wait to grow up. You are wishing the years away so you can gain some independence and live by your own rules. Usually that meant you wanted to be twenty, not thirty. Thirty seemed like such an OLD age to be. Nowadays, it isn’t considered to be old, but it’s not difficult to see why we thought being thirty meant you were middle aged.
For starters, Disney Princesses were never thirty. I don’t think Maleficent would have had the patience to wait thirty years for Aurora to prick her finger. When my mum was thirty, she was married with two children. That was probably the norm for most of our mums. Women generally married in their late teens or early twenties and babies soon followed. I remember being told, a long time ago, that way back in the day if a woman was single past a certain age then it meant she was a lesbian (bearing in mind, this would have been back when it was illegal to be gay). There is a chance I may have dreamt hearing that, but I’m sure I was told that at some point. Going even further back in time, let’s go medieval, a single woman hitting thirty meant she was old. She was barren. She was past it. She would become a spinster and be a financial burden on her family.
It’s no wonder why people dread hitting the big three-oh when there have been negative connotations associated with that number for generations and generations. But what is so bad about being thirty?
Nothing. Tomorrow, when I wake up in my first day at a thirty-year-old, I doubt I will feel any different. I’m not a financial burden on my family, (although my Dad might say different…), I’m not a lesbian (not for lack of experimenting, but it wasn’t for me…), and I’m not married with two children (although I am engaged and have a five-month-old baby).
Ten thousand, nine hundred and fifty-six days ago, I was born. I have no idea what kind of life my parents had mapped out for me but seven thousand, three hundred and six days later, I turned twenty, and there started the best decade of my life. For three thousand, six hundred and fifty days I lived my life the best I could. I visited some beautiful countries, I met life-long friends, I made life changing decisions, I wrote about my life, I met the person I wanted to spend my life with and together we created a life.
The last decade may also contain some upsetting times that I would rather forget, but I can’t deny that the good outweigh the bad. My thirties will be a completely different experience to my twenties, but I am excited to see what life has in store for me. There may be fewer holidays abroad, less risk, less alcohol, but I am sure there will be plenty of adventures.
Here are a few things I know will happen during the next three thousand, six hundred and fifty days: I will be married (in 3 weeks!), I will complete and publish my third novel, I will publish my first children’s book, I will celebrate my daughter’s first (up to tenth) birthday and I will graduate from university.
I don’t fear being thirty like I may have once upon a time. I don’t even fear forty to be honest (although, ask me again in ten years..!) Times have changed. I don’t need to turn in to Nora Batty just yet. I can put away the hair rollers and big blue cardigan for a little while longer yet.
In twenty minutes time when the clock strikes midnight I will bid farewell to my twenties, if I can stay awake long enough, and welcome the next chapter of my life with open arms 🙂 bring it on!
Ciao for now!
Lots of love,
From the twenty-nine years, three hundred and sixty-four days old me