Only one month until my birthday. My 30th birthday.
And you know, despite having a bad track record with birthday parties, I actually cannot wait.
I’m not dreading the big 3-0. No lamentations for the adventures and excitement of my youthful 20s. In all honesty, 30 just feels right. For me, 30 means confidence, giving up the petty worries from new adulthood. It signifies a bit more personal stability, being able to handle and laugh at the chaos of life. 30 means the beginning of a grander adventure.
I may not have things figured out, but it doesn’t scare me any more. I’ve learned that I can survive a whole lot of things. Good and bad. I’m not starving for the validation of anyone other than myself.
And yeah, I may still create wish lists with comics and vinyl toys on them… but I know not to confuse youthfulness and passion for childishness or a lack of maturity. (And yes, I am hoping to get Comixology gift cards for my birthday this year.)
I used to worry that my birthday was jus going to pass like it’s any other day. That idea really takes the joy out of a birthday — something that still holds a lot of importance for me, failed party attempts or whatever notwithstanding. But as long as this day is special to me, I can make it — and this whole decade — whatever I want. And that is pretty freaking liberating.