I was twenty-eight on Monday.
10 years since I was eighteen.
Yep, pretty basic maths… But sometimes I still feel I’m that young, to be honest! (Hopefully that’s not as tragic to say that now, as it will be when I’m forty-eight.) I’m forever referring to people being ‘our age’ when I talk to my friends, when in fact they range from 23-30. And if I’m ever asked my age, my instinct is to say twenty-five. I’ve reached a point where I have to genuinely think about my answer!
I’m pushing thirty, and perhaps I’ll say differently when I get there in a couple of years, but it’s so easy to be negative about birthdays once you’ve passed twenty-five-ish and it’s ridiculous. It’s just a number. Nothing actually changes overnight. And growing old is a privilege, amiright? I had the same sentiments when I turned 26 and again, when I turned 27.
So, here are some great things about being another year older (and wiser!)
1. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
Honestly and truthfully, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. (Well, besides my wedding day and the day Byron was born!) It’s not because of one thing. And it’s not just because of material things either (although we’re still very much loving our new place!) but I’ve got my lovely little family and our move has given us a new little lease of life to make some more time to do things we enjoy. And Byron, while a handful at times, brings me joy (and amazement) every day. He’s so lovely, friendly and smart all at once. It fills my heart with joy when he tells me about the things him and his friends have been doing at preschool that morning. It scares me that we’ll be applying for schools for him this year, but it makes me so happy too!
2. I know myself now, better than ever.
Whoah, deep. It sounds like such a silly and obvious thing to say— “I know myself.” Duh. But over recent years I’ve discovered different things I do or do not like, and here’s the thing now: I don’t care about admitting them. And that makes me happy and free. Years ago there probably would have been that element of not wanting to, but now I think and hope I’ve reached that point where I don’t care so much about what other people think, particularly those who don’t know me. Hurrah!
3. I’m more confident.
I guess this kind of ties in with the theme of not caring so much, but I’m definitely more confident these days with all parts of my life. I think you get to a point where you just think, “Fuck this— I do not have enough time in the day to worry about what other people think.” I’ve had a baby, so I’ve got a bit of a jelly baby. I prefer to spend my Friday nights in my home, than out until 3am with sweaty strangers in a club. I don’t really enjoy the taste of alcohol. And that, is that.
Bring on 29!