It’s an interesting number, thirty. Your twenties are for figuring it out, but your thirties are for settling in; settling down. In three decades, I’d like to think I’ve learnt a lot. I’ve learnt to appreciate time, especially. To appreciate what we have, and what we don’t. To find friends, to leave places, to discover new beliefs, and to leave old ones behind. In cliches, it’s a journey. But really, for me, it has felt episodic in many ways. And in each episode, and season, there are finales. And cliffhangers–those things that get me excited for what’s coming next.
Much as I like spending my time alone, crafting or writing, I’ve learnt the importance of knowing people and trying to see what they see. I’ve come to appreciate the failures, even when they frustrate me. I don’t know if I’ll ever amount to anything. I might not ever be published, or stand out in a crowd. I might die and be forgotten; most of us stay forgotten. But in thirty years I’ve realised–though perhaps not yet totally accepted–that it doesn’t matter if we’re remembered. It matters that we’re here. That we laugh. And have fun. And make fun of the annoyances, but also let out the tears when there’s pain. Because that’s living. That’s being human. Why wouldn’t we love and cry and laugh as much as we possibly could?
So, yeah. Thirty is the same as twenty-nine. It just means I have even more chances to keep on living, and that’s what I’m going to do.