Today, I turn thirty.
In a cabin on Lake Tahoe with close friends, thirty-weeks pregnant, I embrace adulthood.
I’m not young anymore. I have made mistakes and people have hurt me. I have embarrassed myself after one-too-many glasses of Pinot.
I have also made good decisions based on those mistakes and people have been kind to me. I am confident. I appreciate little things like knowing how to do my makeup.
At thirty, I appreciate new perspectives, but respect those who are older than me. I look for reasoning and empathy, not stereotypes.
I understand that there will always be a hole in my life since I lost my father, and that hole is part of who I am. In a way, it honors him and I have stopped fighting it.
I’m finally at peace with the assurance that God is a journey. A warm, tremendous journey. You never stop figuring it out. And you shouldn’t trust people who say they have.
I want to keep challenging myself. I want to remain dedicated to Christian service, musical expression, faith dialogue, and my career after I have a baby. These are parts of who I am and I hope it makes me a sharp and interesting mother for this little person learning about the world.
I don’t want to go back to my twenties. I got married early – when I didn’t know who I was, and luckily I married someone who has allowed me to emerge. I think he may like me more now, even if I am no longer blonde, tan, or effortlessly thin.
I am done trying to be someone I am not. I finally know who I am while I am still young enough to appreciate her. It took me thirty years to get here.
To all my friends in their thirties: this post is for you. To all my friends in their twenties: don’t fear your next birthdays. They are a good thing.
Congrats on turning thirty, me. Welcome to the Jesus Years. Enjoy your vacation.