Remember when you were in our 20s, and you had an idea or fantasy of what your 30s would be like? Are your 30s better or worse than what you imagined?
Corey has her own ideas of 30s, and I think her perspective of what it is like to be in your 30s is spot on. Or at least we do a pretty good job of ‘faking it.’
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Still So Unsure
I am really looking forward to my thirties. That sounds insane when I say it out loud, but it’s the truth. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to wish away my last two years of being in my twenties, but there is something to be said about women in their thirties. They are…different. Let me explain.
My twenties have been great! I have a lot to show for myself. I have a Master’s degree that I worked my ass off for and I live in a tropical paradise. I have a husband who I adore and a sweet pug that we couldn’t live without. I have a great creative outlet and people actually like reading what I have to say there. So what’s the problem? I feel, aside from a little cliché, lost.
I thought after I finished my Master’s in Writing that I would know what I wanted in life; like I had accomplished what I needed to, and I would feel fulfilled. I would get an awesome writing job and work hard to move up the chain. But then graduation came and went, and nobody wanted to hire me. What the what? I am outgoing and smart and get along with everyone. Strangers talk to me on the street because I have that face that says, “Let’s chat!” And I have a freaking Master’s! Come on!
I felt lost. I did the work, so now I get the job I want and all my dreams come true. Isn’t that how it works? I felt like I was a failure. I had the credentials but still had to tell people I worked somewhere ordinary and not at all involved with my shiny new degree. My worst nightmares were coming true and I was letting everyone who cheered for me down.
I thought by the time I was 28, I’d at least have a “real job.” When I turned 25, I had a serious melt-down, silly youngster that I was, and thought I’d never make it to the end of my degree. I tend to be really hard on myself and I was depressed that I hadn’t figured out all that I thought I would by then. And now I’m 28 and I’m still not closer to having all the answers, or any of the answers for that matter. Annoying, right?
So, here’s what I think about being thirty. I think that when I’m thirty, I won’t feel as lost as I feel now. It sounds crazy but women in their thirties have their shit together. At least, that’s how I see it. If they don’t have it together, they are confident/smart/eloquent enough to make you forget that they are a mess.
I’m looking forward to having that confidence. That conviction of self that comes with age, when you stop caring what people around you think and just focus on enjoying the present. I look forward to feeling good in my own skin.
I look forward to being a mother and having that ability to magically know everything all the time. That happens, right? If it doesn’t, don’t tell me. Because when I’m thirty, even if I don’t know the answer, I will appear to have it and nobody will know any different.
Do you remember those deodorant commercials for Sure? Where the girls are all trying to be sneaky about checking to see if they had B.O.? And the commercial would show them trying to casually check but in a really obvious way, and say, “Unsure.” And the smelly girl would make a face, like, “man, I suck.” But then they show the girl dancing at a club or tossing her little one over her head as they play, not caring to check her “smell status” because she was, “Sure!” And she is all happy and obviously perfect. That’s how I feel about my twenties versus what my thirties will be.
In my twenties, I am constantly seeking validation – from my parents, from my not-so- dream job, from my friends and from myself. Am I enough? Is my job enough? Am I skinny enough? Is my house clean enough? Question, question, question. It never ends and I beat myself up for everything. The constant questioning is exhausting and I am ready for it to end. I am tired of being obviously “unsure.”
In my thirties, I want to be “sure.” Sure of myself and my choices. I don’t want to have to explain myself. I don’t want to feel inadequate in anything. If my laundry is all over the place, it’s because I value playing with my family more than washing clothes. If I want to eat a cheeseburger and milkshake, I want my friends to high-five me for being so obviously comfortable with my self-image. If I want to quit my full time job and be a blogger, or a full-
time ventriloquist for that matter, I want to be confident in that and not have to bumble for excuses or reasons why. Because I want to, and I’m thirty, damnit. And that will be my mantra, my validation, my confidence. I am not afraid of being older, because it will come with being wiser. And that will be blissful. I am sure of it.