It's My Birthday and I'll Blog if I Want To: 30

[JFK died so that I could live. Source]

I've been dreading turning thirty for, well, the past thirty years. When I was a teenager the number was synonymous with "old," and I assumed my life would basically be over. And while that obviously isn't true, I'm still not completely jazzed, although I'm not as depressed as I thought I'd be either.

I think my biggest point of contention has been that my twenties were just so... fantastic. So many life-changing events went down and there was so much fun had. I met and married my husband and we eventually bought our home, all by ourselves (I will forever and always be so very proud of the fact we did it without any assistance, FHA excluded). We became owners of two awesome dogs and have worked hard to live comfortably, but responsibly. I've gotten to travel some, destinations including Italy, New York City, Hawaii, Chicago (sort of), and the Caribbean. I got serious about my health, running eleven half marathons, climbing Half Dome in Yosemite twice, and beginning yoga. I graduated from UCLA, got three teaching credentials, and a Master's. I made some of the greatest friends ever after moving to a new city, while still maintaining close relationships with my mom and siblings, despite the distance. I've tried to cultivate new hobbies (sewing, cycling, blogging), while still holding on to old ones (cooking, reading, worrying). I've made an effort to spend time with friends and have also tried to "get out and about" in the area, going to readings, museums and other fun events once a month. I've gotten really drunk, but I've also mastered the art of cooking quinoa. I've done turn-around trips to Vegas, but have also spent long weekends reading on the couch. My twenties have been exactly what they needed to be.

Not to say this decade was easy. I've spent thousands of hours worrying about things, both controllable and uncontrollable. We've had to deal with job loss and the threat of job loss. I've had to move schools three times and I've had to work at creating a social life from nothing (friends are important to me, what can I say?). And a whole bunch of other stuff that I won't dwell on because there's only so much I can share with strangers.

Being pregnant has softened the blow, I have to admit. I always said I wanted to either have my first baby or be pregnant by the time I was thirty, and for quite some time that was looking like it wasn't going to happen. The possibility of not hitting that checkpoint during the allotted time was quite unsettling. This wasn't some arbitrary number I had set- I was serious. But then things changed and the impending gloom of the notorious 3-0 wore off a tad. Another item to check off the life to-do list.

And here we are. I'm not happy about it. I know your thirties brings more grey hair, a slower metabolism, and worse hangovers. You can't fuck up and blame it on being young anymore, and the next decade, the forties, will make you officially middle-aged. But being the realist I am, I know there's nothing you can do to stop aging. I'll work just as hard to stay healthy, active, social, and aware of the world. It's all I can do.