Two hours to go. One hour and fifty-two minutes to be exact. But hey, who’s counting?
Thirty. What does it mean? Nothing much. I mean, 40’s my scary age. It’s the age I remember my parent’s being when I was little. Thirty? Well, thirty was the age of successful businessmen and women who had tons of money to spend on wine, houses and I don’t know… travel? With wine in hand, sitting inside a house I rent, looking forward to an upcoming weekend in Boston, I figure I’m on the right track, no? Well, that’s just the thing. I have absolutely no idea.
My twenties were about adventure. I traveled. I found love. I made wonderful mistakes, and then I learned from them and quickly moved on (from some more quickly than others). It was a time of excitement, a time of firsts, and probably a time of lasts as well – I’m getting too old for that kind of hangover. As the hours wind down though, I’m starting to wonder whether or not I’m ready to say goodbye to what might have been the most memorable years of my life. I mean, what can compare with an university exchange to Toulouse? A volunteer placement in Tanzania? A career as a varsity athlete? Albeit, all of that happened during my early twenties. During my late twenties, I met my husband under the full moon on a beach in Thailand, traveled solo throughout Asia, moved to Germany, got married and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Not too shabby. Continue reading “This Is Thirty.”