This week marks my half birthday, and the final descent to the grand old age of 30. In six months, I’ll start my next decade and my twenties will be done with forever.
I’ve had a pretty good decade, as far as my twenties go. I remember turning twenty, scary as it was then, thinking that this meant my life was really about to begin. It was time to be a grown up.
I turned twenty-one and took the P plates off my car. Now I was truly an adult. No one could distinguish me on the road from the millions of others driving around. No longer was I ‘young and stupid’. Now I was just one of them.
At twenty-two I bought a house. Perhaps this was that moment of grown up clarity I had been waiting for. But still, I made mistakes at work that I thought were those of someone with no experience and my minor car accidents proved there is no life event that will make you a proper adult. It’s more of a process.
I feel like twenty-three was a non descript year. Given my most vivid memory from this period was an ambulance call to the Geebung Polo Club when I passed out after two Bacardi Breezers, I am quite sure I’d gone backwards in the process of growing up.
By twenty-four, my ambition had finally kicked in and I started my first corporate job in the CBD. I remember being terrified of going out at lunch for fear of getting lost in the concrete jungle. It took at least twelve months for me to conquer my fear of heading out past Collins Street alone. Not grown up at all.
When I reached my official mid twenties, I lamented the fact I was still single, living alone in the suburbs, working in a job I didn’t love. What was I to do? How could I feel this way at twenty-five? I had decades to feel this way! Your twenties were supposed to be wild and fun and crazy! And here I was, being sensible and straight. Grown ups take charge – and it was time for things to change.
I moved to the city at twenty-six. I traded my three bedroom house for a one bedroom flat, and nights on the couch for evenings in bars and at fashion events. My social life blossomed; I made wonderful friends. And I figured with these areas of my life going so well, why couldn’t I be just as happy in my work? I resigned with no job to go to (not grown up at all!) and found something more challenging.
I lasted just over twelve months. At twenty-seven, I was burning the candle at both ends and I couldn’t do it anymore. My work life balance was shot to pieces and I completely lost my sense of self. Was I successful because I was good at my job? Or a failure because I couldn’t hack it? Could I say I was a grown up now, dealing with grown up issues?
Twenty-eight introduced me to the man I would fall in love with, who would show me there were other things in life to be excited about, and appreciate, and that none of those things would come from eighty hour work weeks and tears.
Now, at twenty-nine, I’d like to think I was content. I work for myself, I am loved and cherished by a wonderful man and have an exceptional circle of family, friends and supporters. I run a successful blog, my opinions are valued and I am proud of myself.
Where did I think I would be at thirty? Some days I was married with two kids, living in the suburbs. Other days I was the girl about town, tottering about Melbourne in my heels, cocktail in hand.
But the reality is neither. I’d like to think I’m somewhere in between. The definition of growing up is to become an adult and I think part of this is learning from experiences, dealing with the good and bad, and taking the ups with the downs.
No amount of hardships or smooth sailing will make it any easier – growing up is a journey – one which we all go through.
Thirty is not the benchmark for saying you are an adult – I have friends who married at 20 and have three children at school now; others who are still single in their mid 30s and enjoying all life has to offer. They are all grown up – and I suppose I am too.
Somewhere along the line – between buying houses, making life changing decisions about moving jobs and meeting people I want to spend the rest of my life knowing – I became a grown up.
I’m a big kid now.
Or at least, I can pretend to be for another six months.
Image credit: Clint Peloso