Ooohh I’m really filling up the Random Ramblings category these days aren’t I? I really enjoy writing these sort of posts and hope you like reading them too. Let me know your thoughts in the comments box below.
I was born in 1983 so if your maths is as good as Oli you’ll know that I’m turning 32 in 2015. So I feel that enough distance has passed for me to be able to discuss my experience of turning thirty with a bit of clarity. Or not. Either way, I guess it’ll be enlightening for us both.
I was in a serious relationship from the age of about 18-24/25 ish and as this ran over University years, I know I didn’t make the most of my first time living away from home etc etc. I mean, I still had a fair few drunken nights out and suffered the hellish landlord experience but I didn’t have any drunken one night stands and I don’t think I properly let myself grow up. I just sort of stayed like a teenager in the body of a twenty something……this continued right up until the point I broke up with said boyfriend (in typical teenage am-dram fashion) and moved into what I dub ‘my first single girl flat’.
These years marked some of the happiest of my life. Living with 2 other girls, having fights over washing up and drunken nights out, the tears shed whilst sharing countless bottles of wine (or in my case gin, I was still a teenager at heart and didn’t get a taste for wine until much later). I moved jobs, I moved house and found a new single girl flat with even more gin and partying. I had a horrible boss so my dad encouraged me to quit my crappy job and go travelling. He even paid for my flight to Oz…….on my 26th birthday, I had been travelling solo for almost 6 months and was living in a hostel in Melbourne and working in a pizzeria on Lygon Street. So, I spent my birthday in a pretty conventional fashion, getting drunk and having Connor from Neighbours serenade me with Happy Birthday.
I came home, went through some hideousness (both on the personal and work front….I even managed to merge the two in a spectacularly hideous fashion!) and I found and amazing job in an industry I’ve long been passionate about, Beauty.
So when I found myself, aged 29 sharing a 2 bedroom flat with the #bestflatmateever Katy (I adored that flat so much, I live next door to it now) I didn’t really get what all the fuss was about finding a boyfriend and settling down. My single friends were Internet dating and I was bored. I met Oli (well, I already knew him but that’s another story) and found a kindred spirit who I bonded with over a mutual love of fun, travel and general weirdness. 29 was weird, a bit like having a year of PMT….but not as bad. 30 seemed such a big deal, even more so when everyone talks about it being the BIG 3-0…..or #dirtythirties (urgh!) and I suddenly felt like I needed constant reassurance that turning 30 would ‘be ok’ as if my kidney would malfunction on the exact moment the clock hit midnight and I was officially in a new age box. Weird.
The thing is, everyone says for some reason ‘I loved turning 30, I just started to feel so…you know?’ No, I don’t know. Speak proper sentences and perhaps I will.
I guess I understand the theory of caring less as you get older, and I really hope that when I’m Helen Mirren’s age, I’ll be as cool as she is. To be honest, I’d actually like to be as cool as her now……But here’s the truth, I feel absolutely no different in my thirties. In a good way! Turning 30 was kinda stressful in the build up and an anti climax in it’s entirety. A bit like New Years Eve. The things that have really changed me are nothing to do with my age. It’s travel, or grief. Love, too. Becoming an Aunty and attempting to change a nappy (still can’t do it). Finding love for healthy eating and discovering I can get fit without getting bored (Oh hai, HIIT and Yoga).
So I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t worry. Treat turning thirty with the same comic disdain as you do for NYE. It’s over hyped, under whelming and the best thing to do is drink through it.