Thirty, Nerdy, and Striving

I AM THIRTY.

I’m grateful to be thirty. I am alive, and whole. I have a home, food, and warmth. I have loved ones.

But I sure don’t like saying I’m thirty. It looks even worse as “30.” Ugh.

When I was a teenager, I remember the adults saying they didn’t feel their age. Moms and Dads didn’t feel middle-aged as those years came upon them. Grandmas and Grandpas didn’t feel like the seniors they were. I couldn’t possibly comprehend what they meant, but I always believed them. And I was a little afraid of being in their positions because it sounded kinda crazy.

I tell ya, thirty is the magical mark when you start to understand. I don’t feel like I’ve been alive for three decades. I’m still the same me from those earlier years, just wrapped in more layers of experience. That’s really all that being thirty means: you’ve just been adulting for a while, congratulations!

Haha Mom, you're 30!

I was excited for my twenties. The twenties would be these exciting years where I’d be young, fresh, and carving my own path. Of course, even young adulting is still adulting; I wasn’t handed a free ticket to life. But I’m super grateful for my upbringing, which gave me a great chance at working hard and seeking opportunities.

And I loved my twenties. I mean, they can pretty much be summed up by college, marriage, and having babies, but they were more than that. I tried new things, learned new things. I screwed up and have regrets. I forged new relationships. I got to know myself and found my groove. Then babies came and I had to find myself all over again.

Now my twenties are forever in the past, locked away in memory.

So how’s life as a thirty-year-old parent? Well, most of my relaxing, creative, and thinking time comes in the two-and-half hours after the kids go to sleep. I write, or Clayton and I play games or watch movies together. Or we read and watch things about space. Yes, lots of outer space stuff around here. We also binge-watch Les Miserables in its movie and concert forms every other year. Sometimes those few evening hours are not enough for me to recharge, and by the end of the week, I’m a bit spent. Saturdays are for sleeping.

Looking ahead--but not too far ahead because that’s where the forties lurk, and oh man, can’t even go there right now--my goals are to help our kids thrive, to write a book someday, to go on more runs after the rain’s moved on, and to get enough rest during the week that we can go exploring on the weekends.

In the meantime, I’m just a thirty-year-old drawing pictures of chalk rainbows on the driveway, sculpting princesses with weird-looking eyes out of modeling clay, and shaking my hips to Disney songs. The kids keep me young.

I’m glad to be thirty. Maybe not . . . 30 . . . yet. ;) But life is good.