October 30, 2017 / Personal
I turned thirty this month.
Admittedly, I started lathering my skin in coconut oil and cleaning out my closet of high stilettos that scream twenties, because what new mom wears 5-inch heels??
But as I found myself staring at a sheer crop top I once rocked when I was 22, I started to question whether we all seem to place this weird stereotype on 30? Maybe my skin has a few more fine lines and I probably shouldn’t wear the bunny costume my husband once found allllll too attractive at a college Halloween party. But ultimately, there’s no rules for this new decade, and I don’t think any of us should feel pressure to transition into something we’re not. So I kept the crop top.
At thirty, I am a wife. A mom. A sister, an aunt, a friend. I am a writer. An editor. A blogger, a contributor, and my own boss. But the real beauty of thirty is the realization that none of these titles give me more or less worth. None of it determines my happiness, my success, or my future.
Instead, I feel free. Free of all the expectations I set for myself when I was 20, naively unaware of how life actually happens. I have a lot more faith in the process over the plan, and I don’t feel so attached to that list of childhood dreams I once thought equated to happiness. Instead, I know the joy of life is found settled into quiet moments that I’ll easily miss if I’m not present — morning coffee with my husband, quiet stroller walks with my boy, and little victories in my career no one will really celebrate but me.
Here are 30 more lessons I learned by 30…
Thanks for being part of my journey. Here’s to three more decades of best days ever…
I am a mother, a wife, a writer, and the co-founder of Summer Fridays.
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