Why we need to stop turning 30 into an Expiration Date

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Today’s my birthday.  I’m 32 years old, which is crazy to me because the truth is that most days – in my head – I still feel like I’m 17.  And I suppose I still am in some ways; I still listen to the same kind of music, I still love doughnuts just as much (and more to the point still eat them for breakfast sometimes like I did when I was 17), still have a crush on Robert Downey Jr, still have the occasional volcanic eruption on my chin, and I still (and always will) think that mayonnaise is rank – get it the hell away from me.

How do I feel about hitting 32?  I feel good.  Better than good.  Which is strange because for a long time I was absolutely terrified of hitting my thirties.

I feel like during our twenties we’re made to feel like our thirtieth birthday is an expiration date of some kind.  You know, that by thirty we’re supposed to have travelled the world, ticked a few things off of our bucket list, met “the one”, know our personal style, have our own place, feel ready to create little humans (if we haven’t already), have reached a certain point in our chosen careers and just generally have life figured out.  We spend our twenties making Before 30 Lists of things we want to do or accomplish – and that’s not even taking into account society’s ideas about what we should have achieved before reaching the big 3-0.  And because of that we turn our thirtieth birthday into an expiration date.  The real life version of what midnight was to Cinderella… minus the pumpkin and glass slipper.

As I take another step into my thirties I can safely say that I’m happier and more comfortable in myself now than I ever was in my twenties.  And that’s not because I ticked everything off my 30 Before 30 List, or because I have life figured out – I really, really don’t.  Who does?  But I definitely understand myself a little better; who I am, who I’m not, and who I want to be.

We need to stop turning 30 into something to be feared and instead treat it as something exciting.  There’s something empowering about turning thirty.  It’s a whole new decade.  A whole new you… if that’s what you want.  You might not have x, or done y, or been to z, but hopefully you’ll know yourself a little better, and what and who matters to you the most.  And at the end of the day, those things are more important than whether you’ve backpacked the world or run a marathon or partied until the sun comes up.  You can still do all those things in your thirties, by the way.  No one’s stopping you!  😉

Happy Birthday to meeee! 🎈

What I Wore: Joyeux

I can list on one hand the things that make me happy.  Some of them are those small every day mood-improvers – the little things – and others are much, much bigger, can’t live without things and people.  1. Good (bad) food.  2. Fresh Flowers.  3. Writing.  4. Music.  And, 5. My Family.  Of course each of those things can be broken down even further (I mean, the subcategory of what kinds of food make me happy is absolutely fricking ENORMOUS), and obviously there are other things in life that make me happy, but the above are my five great loves in terms of my day to day happiness.

Here’s another thing that’s a little further down the list; T Shirts.  I don’t know why the hell I’ve gone and bought another one – I’ve got a whole heap of them – but every time I wear them they seem to bring a smile to my face so I’m rolling with it.  I picked up this new addition in H&M recently; I love the bold, bright text and of course the word itself; JOYEUX, which means Happy.  And sometimes that just means wearing jeans and t shirt and dancing around in your kitchen with your dog  🙂

Baklava.  Baklava (as I’ve recently found out) makes me very happy.

Look at that grin.  That grin makes me grin 🙂


Happy Monday!  What little things make you feel joyeux?  🙂

The Cost of Selling Yourself Short

Guess what?  I’ve written a book.  It’s 128,932 words long, it took four years to write (four long years of backache, breakdowns and bawling on Sunny’s shoulder), it’s hands-down the best thing I’ve ever written and I’ve got two agents who are kind of interested.

…But, I don’t like to talk about it.  In fact, I hate talking about it.  I won’t talk about it.

When someone asks, I clam up.  I get embarrassed and then do everything in my power to swiftly change the subject, like, “Uh yeah, but it’s nothing, it’s early days, it’s not published or anything… But hey!  Are you watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend/Nashville/Vikings?  You should, you totally should!”  The truth is that I’m so damn terrified of the other person thinking that I’m braggy or arrogant that I won’t ever talk about this massive part of who I am; something that’s probably by far my greatest ever achievement.

And it’s not just the book; I’m constantly selling myself short in all areas of my life.  I’ll bake something that took hours, but when someone says it tastes good?  “Meh.  It’s okay… it’s a bit too sweet/burnt/dense really.”  On days where my winged eyeliner looks almost even (it’s never actually even, I mean come on) and I’ve managed to wrestle down those wisps of hair that always stick up, if someone throws a compliment my way, my first response is usually, “…Really?”  

I’m still weird about taking pictures of myself because, ugh, awkward, bum-chin and big nose.  I won’t post outfit shots in my weirdest shirt because – despite what I might think – heaven forbid someone out there thinks I’m being vain or self-centered.  And yeah that picture I took is nice, but y’know I can’t take credit, the camera did most of the work.

…Dude, stop.

Growing up we’re told not to brag, not to be big-headed or cocky in case we offend someone with our own unique brand of awesome.  But there’s a cost to that.  The danger is that we become humble to the extreme, to our detriment.  Not self-deprecating, but self-sabotaging.  We become blunter, duller versions of ourselves to please others, and instead of roaring our talents from the rooftops, we whisper them.  As if they’re a secret that’s too much to share with the world.

Turning the volume down on your talents just in case a complete stranger or otherwise gets offended or thinks badly of you is stupid.  If they don’t like your noise, that’s their problem, not yours.  It’s not about becoming big-headed, it’s about accepting and acknowledging those times when you nailed it and giving yourself credit.

It’s Valentines Day tomorrow, and instead of buying into the mush (…Sunny and I don’t really celebrate beyond a card each) I’m using it as a day where I promise to stop selling myself short from now on.  Next time someone asks about my book, I’ll tell them about it.  I worked fucking hard on it and should be proud.  I might even get up the courage to post a selfie, bum chin and all.  And yeah, I did bake that cake and you know what?  It’s pretty damn good.  🙂