I’m 30. Now what?
Notes on entering a new decade, dealing with expectations in your late 20s, and aging.
I think I had my first major breakdown around aging at 27.
I was nowhere near where I thought I would be by then, which made me feel like a failure. I tried to convince myself that age was just a number. A made-up concept. A guessing game that can make you feel great about yourself or destroy your confidence in a matter of seconds. I also told myself that I had time.
Sometimes I meant it. I looked around at my friends, work colleagues and acquaintances. Some were my age, slightly younger, or a few years older. Some were getting married or engaged, others were single or navigating the dating scene. Some had thriving careers, others were battling with toxic work environments. Some made it look like they had it all together, others were still trying to figure themselves out. Some were ahead in their healing journey, others were just starting therapy. This made it seem like there was no right or wrong way to live your life, no “one-size-fits-all” timeline that we had to follow in order to be a worthy, successful, and accomplished person.
Other times, I saw this whole “you have time” thing as a lie. My brain played devilish tricks on me. It made me forget all the great things about myself and my path. Yes, I wasn’t were I thought I would be, but I was somewhere. It wasn’t a perfect place, but it was a place. The grass was green enough. I wish I had taken better care of it. My brain was also addicted to comparing, a nasty habit that empowered my inner critic to win every single time we came face to face. Our conversations ranged from everything to my relationship (long-distance, ten years in, still not married), my career (in shambles), my body (too big), my style (is the style in the room with us right now?), my passions (not good enough to pursue them), my hobbies (boring, basic), my personality (not that smart, not that interesting).
If my inner critic was a real person, it would be that one girl who is somehow part of your life, but not close enough to know you—at least not the “real” you. Yet, she still judges you based on a made-up story. With time and therapy, I realized it might be a fantasy to expect her to ever leave. You might still see her at social gatherings, follow her on Instagram, or exchange a few messages now and then. What I could do was learn how to tolerate her from a distance and pay her the attention she deserves.
A few days before I turned 30, this video from Julia Fox popped up on my for you page on TikTok. Against random New York City noise, Julia declared that aging was fully in. Like, fully. And I agree with her. Like, fully.
For the longest time, my biggest fear and worst nightmare was getting old (not to be confused with dying). The thought of having wrinkles, moving slowly or God forbid not at all, and struggling to do things on my own, sent me into an anxious spiral. There were of course other more daunting notions that scared (scare) the living shit out of me. What if I don’t accomplish everything I want and become a sad, lonely, bitter lady? What if I get diagnosed with any of the conditions that run in my family? What if I get to a point where I don’t remember anyone?
Like many of the things that keep me up at night, I know my fear of getting old is simply a matter of perception. Changing the lens. Seeing the other side. The more I live, the more I realize that aging is the ultimate goal. It’s a sign that you still have time to know yourself a little bit better, to improve yourself a little bit more. It’s beautiful, it’s sexy, it’s hot! There’s nothing more attractive than someone who has lived, and lived well. Someone who has experienced all kinds of joy and all kinds of sadness. Someone who embraces who they are, who feels comfortable in their own skin, who has no time to worry about what others might think. Someone who is 94, sitting in a neighborhood café with their wife, drinking champagne in the morning because they just celebrated another anniversary—this is a delightful true story; I ended up crying all over my churros thanks to this adorable couple.
There’s always something quite emotional about having an encounter with someone who is older than you, family or stranger. It’s not sadness nor pity, but rather how beautiful it must be to have come that far. To have so many stories to tell and experiences to share. To have read so many book, watched so many movies, visited so many places, felt so many things. Thankfully, I have also started to feel this way about turning 30. Although there is still fear about what comes next, and self-criticism around everything that was left unaccomplished, there’s also the reassurance that some things do get better with age—and that you still have time, plenty of it. Time to keep working on yourself, improve your boundaries, and let go of everything that no longer serves you. Time to feel even more comfortable with who you are, more at peace with your decisions, more at ease with your own life.
Because turning 30 is so much more than the boxes we haven’t ticked. It’s having a dog that you love and a house to call a home. It’s the first tattoo you got that made your grandfather feel so proud and so happy when he was in a dark place. It’s buying flowers and going on more solo dates. It’s getting better at your Pilates practice and feeling challenged when you go out for a cycling class. It’s making new friends and reconnecting with old one’s. It’s planning trips with your girlfriends and swimming in the middle of the ocean. It’s going to therapy, understanding your mother a little bit better, and having some of the best conversations of your life with your father. It’s leaving a draining job, learning how to say “no” without feeling guilty, and being ok with not pleasing everyone. It’s putting yourself out there, starting a newsletter, and sharing your work with other people.
It’s also a lot of self-work. It’s feeling sad, anxious, and depressed. It’s spending too much time on your phone, comparing yourself to other people, and not having the energy to do better. It’s crying on the bathroom floor and wishing you weren't here. It’s failing, falling, and saying the wrong things. It’s hating your body and wishing you were smaller every time you look in the mirror. It’s trying so hard to be a good partner, friend, daughter, sister, and somehow feeling like you’re never good enough. It’s feeling behind, feeling lost, and feeling like you’ll never, truly find yourself.
Turning 30 is like that one Sex and the City episode where Carrie is featured in a magazine looking like something that got caught in a drain. Her words, not mine. “Single and fabulous, question mark”. Knowing who you are and what you bring to the table, yet somehow being set up by bad punctuation. For my next season (decade), I’m changing the narrative. 30 is here. Sometimes it’s first book cover Carrie. She’s living her best life and she looks great doing it. Other times it’s New York magazine cover Carrie. She’s looking and feeling like and absolute mess. Either way, it’s fabulous. Exclamation point.