The Beginning of the End of My Twenties

December 3, 2014 separator Life

The End of My Twenties

 Today marks the beginning of the end of my twenties. I am 29 — thisclose to 30. And I’m okay with it. Birthdays are a fun way to mark time, and though I’m finally old enough to appreciate it when the server cards me before handing over a margarita, I don’t feel any different. I’m more comfortable in my skin than I ever have been, and I’m so grateful for that. Birthdays aren’t a reason to lament dreaded milestones: 30, 40, “over the hill,” “senior citizen.” They’re a reason to appreciate learning from dumb mistakes; mastering new skills; and growing more into who you’re meant to be.

And I’m meant to be a paint-splattered crazy cat lady working to travel and constantly experimenting in the kitchen, and I’m happy for that. Here’s to 29 being the best year yet. And to 30 being even better.

Photo by Ivo Ruijters, graphic by me

24 Merry Days: Day 3


  1. I celebrated my thirtieth birthday with a divorce.
    I can say that at that time it seemed to me that this was the blackest, darkest time of my life. I was at the bottom of despair. He gave me papers to fill out and I hid their chest of drawers in the pantry and cried for a week in a row.
    Three years have passed since then. And I’m glad that then he took the first step towards the final break. We were indeed unhappy. Now I shudder when I remember my past life. Sometimes the hardest trials lead us to the best days.

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