So, there is an elephant in the room that I kept avoiding all this time and then it turned into a dinosaur and then I realized it’s time I confronted it. In 24 days I’m turning 31 and I just hated the idea. Hated it, hated it, hated it. Well, I love the fact than I’m still alive and ready to celebrate another birthday, I just wished it would be my 22nd.
I could do things right this time. I could quit smoking earlier when my metabolism was still decent and a bar of chocolate didn’t cost me a size in jeans. I could go and find Will in Grinnell and ask him out and save me a few more years of loneliness. I could give better advice to my friends and pay more attention to classes. I could get more tattoos while I had high pain tolerance and didn’t think things through. Oh, there are so many things I could re-do!
Even if I made the same mistakes all over again and didn’t change a thing, I would still wished I was 22. “I’m not ready to be 31” the girl in the mirror told me and she kept repeating it while I was scanning her face for thin lines around the eyes. I didn’t find anything and my shattered vanity breathed again. It choked when I added the “yet” to “no lines”.
And then something changed. It started with the realization that the biggest and most beautiful full moon of the year will shine on my birthday (August 24th). The next few days, I went over my 20s and admitted that they weren’t that great. Well, I had fun, but I also took a lot of bullshit from people I shouldn’t give the time of the day to. And some of my outfits should go under the label “what’s wrong with you?”. And I don’t even remember how I spent my 22nd birthday. But I can tell you that the 30th was the best one I’ve ever had.
And the truth is I like me and my life better now. So, I wish people would stop saying that the 30s are the new 20s. I finally know what I really want and I can’t go back to the age of insecurity.