Alternative title: SPOILER ALERT – it feels the same as being twenty-freaking-nine!
Well, it’s official…I’m 30. No, I didn’t wake up on my birthday suddenly brimming with confidence that oozed sexiness so profoundly that a few men (and a few women) the world over fainted at the slightest swish of my jiggly ass. No, I didn’t produce unicorn farts (I seriously feel like I’m missing out with that one), I didn’t change my (rather cynical) perspective on humanity nor did I become enamored with the concept of taking over the world (much). What did happen was that I awoke on my birthday and realised that my eyebrows looked like a caterpillar orgy occurring on my forehead, I noticed a new grey hair taking the piss out of me from within my fringe and I then argued with a pair of rather skinny jeans. The jeans won.
Needless to say, I booked myself in to have the eyebrows threaded (nothing says happy birthday like ripping hairs out of your face).
Needless to say, it felt like any other day.
I feel there is far too much pressure placed on these ‘big’ birthdays that slowly ebbs away at the individual reaching that ‘milestone’. My family for example are very much of the mind-set that if you reach that stage without having children or being married then it’s time to hide your ovaries in a dusty box under the floorboards and go for a tantrum at the hairdressers over their poor assortment of blue rinse shades.
Friends and colleagues have mentioned that when you turn 30 you finally find your place in world (guessing mine is wherever my orange Vans are), that you see your own reflection and go “hey baby, looking fine!”, that confidence slaps you in the face with a “bitch, we got this!”…
If I’m being honest, I still have no idea what my purpose in life is (career or otherwise), I look at my reflection and see the same flaws I saw before, and confidence…Shit…If anyone sees that sod tell it it’s a few days late to my party (no, there is no chocolate cake left).
The truth is, hope you’re listening, that 30 is just a number.
How we feel about life is not going to magically change just because the clock ticked over to your birthday. How we feel about our careers/bodies/whatever is something we each have to work on…Our lives after all, are ours to shape. Each is unique because we are unique.
I spent the day after my 30th in a place close to my heart…I got muddy feet from splashing in puddles, I indulged in my favourite gingerbread, I stood in awe at how beautiful our world can be…I spent it mulling over questions such as “am I good enough?” (thanks anxiety you insufferable bastard), “egg and soldiers or French toast and maple syrup?” (French-freaking-toast for the win!) and “holy shit! How cold is that bloody shower?!” (my bad, can’t work a simple knob…Oy, minds out of the gutter please!).
I had to be dragged kicking and screaming back home…And the ‘returning to work blues’ have been absolutely horrendous! How many of you folks have suffered with post-bank holiday blues today?
So while 30 isn’t this massive moment of realisation that answers all your questions* it’s still a day to celebrate…It’s still a day for cake!
Suppose I should be grateful about the unicorn farts though…Nobody wants a multi-coloured gas cloud following you around after you’ve dropped a silent-but-deadly so fierce it makes eyes water. Would ruin my shopping trips!