On owning who I am….

In less than a month, I’m turning 30. I know there are some people that either freaked out when they turned 30 or think that I should be freaking out about turning 30, but the truth of the matter is that I couldn’t possibly be more excited! Husband and I are moving into our first house and I’m graduating from university, all in my 30th year. What’s not exciting about all that? Plus, he’s throwing me a bash for my birthday and I get to buy a new slinky gown or something. I mean, honestly…how could I NOT be excited?

I’ve watched my mother hit some pretty major milestones…30, then 40, then 50. She hit all of them with a great deal of grace and ease. I most remember her turning 40. She informed my dad that if he threw her any sort of party that involved anything black or “death-y”, she would be more pissed off than he’s ever seen her. She actually made all of us – dad and the 3 kids – very aware of that threat. And we were bright enough to take her seriously. Dad ended up taking her our for a lovely dinner while us kids and all their friends set up a graveyard in the garage (my parents and all their friends turn 40 in the same year) complete with dry ice and nonsense. Mom was PISSED when she was welcomed home to that. She almost started crying…until she walked into the house and saw literally HUNDREDS of colorful flower arrangements, a giant cake (seriously probably could feed 200 people), and all her friends. It was magical!

All that to say that my mom has really nailed every single milestone. Knocked ’em outta the park. By the time she turned 30, she had three kids, a solid career, and was *this close* to literally owning a home….like, outright paying off that damn banknote. It was a remarkable year. When she turned 40, well, you read how that went down. And when she hit 50 just a few years ago, she started learning to ballroom dance with my dad. Now, they actually compete…and they’re GOOD!

So when people talk about dreading turning 30, I’m a bit confused by it. I don’t understand the fear of hitting those milestones. Having my mother hit all of them while I was young enough to miss whatever fear might have been there, but old enough to remember how she reacted has probably been empowering for me. My mom is really a remarkable woman. Lots of self-respect, decency, intuition, and hilarity in that woman. I can’t imagine my parents as “old” because of how they’ve floated through life, not willing to let it get the best of them. Rather, they take life by the horns and really f*ck with it…they throw life for a loop most of the time. My mom is a 50-year-old in a 30-year-old body…and that’s all I really want for myself. I just want to embrace life and everything that it has to offer.

Here’s what 30 means to me: I’m still young enough to party, but old enough to have enough not to need to troll for drinks at a bar (i.e. I’ll just get ’em myself, thanks). It means that I’m young enough to have fun and old enough to know the consequences (good or bad). It means that my life is truly my own and that I can feel as old or young as I want to. It means that I am fully capable of knowing that I am my mother’s daughter in every sense imaginable and I can finally, without hesitation, say that I love when people tell me I’m “so much like my mother.”

Turning 30, scary? Hell no. Let’s rock this!

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