Why I’m Embracing 30.

I hated turning 20. I remember my mom came up to visit, and I was an awful, grumpy person, really sad to give up that decade of teenagehood for horrifying adulthood.

I turn 30 on Sunday.

I’ve been breaking in 30 for the past few months in preparation. Saying I was 30 when people asked how old I was, mentally ticking silly things off the list I wanted to do before I turned thirty. The last one is a tattoo. I may go on Friday, just to sneak it in under the wire. I wanted to publish my book by the time I was thirty. I sent a second draft to my editor last night, so I’ll miss it by a little, but it’s in progress so I won’t be too hard on myself. It’s a strange birthday, 30, and I feel like me, like most people feel the need to create some sort of tally that marks off all the milestones on one’s way to adulthood that they’ve crossed.

University degree? Check.

Post University degree? Check.

Dog/Cat/Parrot? Check. Check.

Husband? Check.

Career? Check.

House? Check.

Baby? Ugh.

I watched this really great Ted Talk about a month ago, and it resonated with me in a lot of ways, because I felt like, by the presenter’s standards, I was doing okay too.

It’s tempting to get caught up in a list of things you’ve done, and write your twenties off as some sort of series of mile markers. For me, in theory, this should make me feel pretty good. Instead of this cut and dry list, I challenged myself to come up with another one, one that really spoke to the experience of the transition that takes place between adolescence and adulthood. We’re often taught that unless something is an accomplishment that we shouldn’t be proud of surviving it, but I feel quite the opposite. Mistakes should get just as much praise as accomplishments, possibly even more if you learn and grow from them.

Here are a list of things I’m proud of that I accomplished in my twenties, because I’ve learned I don’t want to repeat them in my thirties.

I doubted myself constantly. I’d like to say this won’t be a big part of my thirties, and I think I’ve worked past it a bit. Slowly, I’m learning to trust myself more, and learning that finding the confidence is half the battle when it comes to doing the right thing. The right thing is also often very subjective.

I did a job I didn’t want to do. By job, I mean about eight jobs. I slogged along at several retail jobs. I taught ESL. I worked at a front desk. I was a tour guide. I was a life guard. I did a lot of things. Each time I wrapped up at one of those jobs, I told myself with certainty that I’d find something I liked the next time. I learned that sometimes you have to try things to find out what you like. I never imagined myself doing my current job when I was 20. I didn’t even know it existed.

I lived somewhere I hated. Waterloo, Ontario. Sorry, anyone that’s from Waterloo. I hated living there, not because it’s a miserable place, but because I didn’t have any idea what I was doing there, and it was very hard to meet people, since I was slogging at the above jobs I didn’t want to do. I also had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I knew though, after that experience that where you are can change your entire outcome on life, and since then, I’ve embraced geographical happiness in Toronto.

I had no idea what I wanted do to with my life. That happened a few times in my twenties. The first time was after I finished my first-year at university and had to start thinking about declaring a major. The second time was when I finished university and had no idea what came next. The third time was the year after that, after I took an ESL teaching detour to Japan for a year to escape the no idea notion and then had to come back to real life. Life is a long time. Sometimes I still don’t know what to do with my life, even though I’m doing it.

I hated my body. I’ve thought about this a lot lately, as I’ve worked through my anger issues with my body over my miscarriage in May, and reached an interesting and somewhat sad conclusion. I’m probably bound to always hate my body for one reason or another. I’ve never been at a weight where I felt I was happy, even though my weight has ranged around 30 pounds in my twenties, and since the year I turned twenty, I’ve known that I’d probably have infertility issues. I’m not sure what purpose hating your body has, but I’m sure I’m not the only woman that feels this way, and I don’t really know the best way to combat it. Maybe I’ll figure it out in the next decade.

I felt unlikable. Unlovable. This kind of goes along with the line below. My twenties have been a time of great transition with a lot of the important relationships in my life. I’ve walked away from friendships that weren’t working, I’ve blamed myself for what I now know are other people’s issues. I made things about me that weren’t.

I gave too many shits what other people thought about me. I let people hurt my feelings, intentionally or not way too often. Earlier this year, it was almost like a switch flicked in me, and I stopped caring so much. I still care a little, especially if you’re someone I love or care about, but I’m learning to trust myself more and that seems to give less weight to other people’s opinions.

My twenties weren’t all shitty lessons learned either. I’ve done some amazing things, learned some great things about myself that I’ll look forward to playing out in my next decade.

I lived in a foreign country for a year where I was a minority. I didn’t know at the time that it would shape my perspectives the way it did, but I feel like I’m a better person for it.

I wrote a book, or two. And in my thirties, perhaps I’ll actually publish one of them.

I fell in love with my partner a million times for a thousand different reasons. You don’t stay together in your twenties by staying the same. We’ve evolved together. I’m glad I stuck it out.

I became better at seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. I think in my earlier twenties I saw the world as a lot more black and white. I’m getting much better at putting myself in the shoes of others and being empathetic.

I visited places that I wanted to see. I’d like to do more of this in the next decade.

I learned to appreciate the unconditional love of an animal. God, I love my pets. When nothing is right in the world, they’re always awesome. I’ve learned much more from them than they have from me, although Sushi does know a lot of random words.

I learned the value of personal fulfillment. I stopped doing what other people thought was cool, and put energy into the things I loved. Writing, for one.

I realized that my parents were human. I have a million examples of this, but that’s not exactly fair to them. Let’s just say, I love them all the more for it.

I learned how to save money. I guess it helped that as I got into my late twenties, I actually had some money to save. I pay off my credit cards every month, and whenever I have extra dough, it goes onto my student loan. How responsible!

I learned that I have very strong opinions on things I never thought I’d care about. I never thought I’d consider myself a feminist, but I do. I never thought I’d feel really strongly about gay marriage. I do. I never thought I’d really care about the environment. I do.

I got better at sex. Thank God for that. Figuring out what you like and having the confidence to make it know is a pretty important developmental milestone in the bedroom.

I learned I was tougher than I thought. I’ve dealt with rejection. I’ve been frank about things that I never thought I would be. I’ve spoken my mind when it was safer and probably smarter not to. I lost a baby. Tough as nails.

There are probably lot of other things, and I’ll probably change my mind on a lot of things. A family member once told me that when she hit thirty, she felt like she was completely unfulfilled in her life and that there were a million things she felt were lacking.

And then, with a straight face, she told me she got over it. Accepted that that was her life.

I never want to feel like that, and I have the feeling it’s something a lot of women feel like when they hit my age. I think a lot of this is societal, and the notion of ticking off all the boxes and the personal value they bring to one’s life. I’m not sure I see the greatest value in the typical boxed material. I’d rather covet the lessons learned and the mistakes made and look for the value there. After all, the ticked boxes spawned from simpler beginnings. Every new beginning marks the end of something else. My twenties are ending, but I have an exciting new decade to look forward to, full of as many new, special things as I want to fill it with.

I’m not afraid to turn 30. I’m more afraid of cancer, and infertility, and losing my parents, and all the other things that might be on the horizon. Other things I have no control over. I worry about these things superficially, and I’m learning, slowly, to live each day.

Life marches on. Mine’s pretty great.