Thirty. The word tastes good in my mouth. A nice round number that indicates some kind of a milestone in my life. This is definitely an end of something but, like ends usually are, also a beginning of something else. An adult with a capital A. Not a teenager anymore, but far a way from being an “old fart”. So many experiences behind me, and yet, everything is still possible. Such an exciting place to be in.
I don’t remember exactly what I did when I turned 20. Probably me and my friends did the same as we did every time we had a slightest occasion for it – went out to a bar. My fridge was probably full of cider and cheap sparkling, my makeup was strong and I was wearing the tightest top I could find. We were equally intoxicated by our own youth as we were by alcohol. We were powerful, unstoppable and invincible, like all young people turning 20 should be. Earlier that year I had returned from my life-changing trip to Australia, I was living in my own apartment and eager to start university later that autumn. The future was bright and full of exciting things.
A lot has happened since that day. I have graduated, got a steady job, got married, divorced, moved to Australia, lived in different places and ended up to this tiny island in the Mediterranean. New people are born, some have died. I have lived in three countries, learned a new language, met heaps of new people, and most of all, have gotten to know myself. If I look back to that 20-year-old me, under all the heavy makeup and unstoppable attitude, I still see a girl that was quite lost.
Today I’m not having a 30-year crisis. Why should I? I have never been in a better place in my life than I am now. I couldn’t care less about these “achieve these things by the time you turn 30” -listings, because I’m confident that I have the wisdom to focus on those things that matter the most to me. I live in this moment enjoying the Maltese sun, the sea, Italian prosecco and the mere fact that everything is pretty perfect right now.
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