2019 is off to a dirty start. Reason being, I am a January baby and this year, I’m turning the dirty 30. I actually had no idea why this particular birthday was referred to as being “dirty”. After a quick stop to the school of google, the urban dictionary taught me the following:
Dirty Thirty: The age at which single women without children realize that their biological clock is ticking. As a consequence they may lower their standards and increase their willingness to perform sexual acts as a matter of desperation in order to find a mate/sexual partner.
How do I feel about turning 30 you may ask? Well…
“I’m 30 but I still feel like I’m 20…until I hang out with 20-year-olds. Then I’m like nope, never mind, I’m 30.”
My late 20’s was pretty text-book dream like: marriage, house, money, dog, planning for children (tick-tock right google?). Then life took a turn, and as the young generation would say nowadays, I got “woke” and decided that was not my path to happiness (see previous blog post). So, I got divorced (renouncing the long list above), moved to Italy and am currently pursuing a very financially risky and uncertain future in the form of entrepreneurship.
“Welcome to your 30’s: where all your friends have babies, body parts hurt for no reason, and being asleep by 10 is the regular routine, even on weekends.”
I once asked my mom at what point she noticed that her body was aging. Not to be mean, but because unlike not seeing a friend for a month and then noticing they lost 5 pounds because you weren’t around for every ounce they shed, it dawned on me that living in your own aging body may prevent you from seeing its transformation.
I recently had my first experience of catching my complexion in the mirror and seeing noticeable signs of aging. Now, that is not the same as saying I am old. Because I am not. It is to say I now display physical evidence of the reoccurring moments of joy that have solidified a slight creased line on the side of my mouth where a dimple has always resided. That the tense moments of concentration sitting in front of the computer working on this little dream business of mine are forever immortalized in the form of two parallel lines emerging above the bridge of my nose, centered between my brows. That the ever-developing gleam in my eye hints at treasured stories filled with adventure and romance I will hopefully one day get to tell my future kids. And I guess you can say I’m more than okay with that.
So now I’m 30. I have a divorce under my belt but have found in another man the kind of love I didn’t think existed. I don’t own a house but nor do I have any debt. I am also getting to explore a country many people can only dream of visiting, and one day, I will pick the perfect place to settle down. And as far as my career is concerned? I may not have a corporate gig that promises a six-figure salary for the rest of my life, but at this exact moment, I am building something I love and that kind of fulfillment is something money can’t buy.
So, if you ask me how I feel about turning 30? The opposite of dirty. In fact, you can say that in my late 20’s I stumbled upon some industrial strength bleach and did some serious deep cleaning. And I feel pretty damn great about that.