So you’re 30.
Your friends call you to go out at 8pm and you say no because your bra is already off. Or maybe your friends call you to go out for coffee at 10am and you come back home fucking wasted at 10pm. You pay your bills, and then pay for a vacation in the same paycheck. Going to the club is no longer your speed, so you find yourself at lounges and street festivals and happy hours and yacht parties. (I’m on a boat, bitch.) Random amazingness happens on any given day like, a bonus at work, or a new friend on the bus and you find yourself hashtagging #imold rather than #yolo. Some days your night starts at 11pm, and others you’re perfectly fine with going to bed at 9.
But your life is great, and your friends are finding themselves, finding husbands, and finding babies too. You’re collecting godkids faster than you are collecting passport stamps, but even that is filling up quite nicely. You can’t tell if you’re in a relationship or a situation-ship. But here you are in one moment, in the right situation with the wrong person, and before you know it, you’re in the wrong situation with the right person.
You wake up some days and absolutely love your life and the next you want to slit your wrists and don’t want to be around anyone who doesn’t hate everything about theirs. Your girlfriends are more and more the support you need, because Saturn’s return is completely kicking your ass. Obvi.
What the fuck, universe? l’m feeling bi-polar like a motherfucker.
If your 20s were for having fun and finding yourself, then your 30s are about having your kind of fun. Right? I was asked the other day if I miss my 20s. I wouldn’t say that I miss it. I just kind of feel like something is missing.
What is it and where do I find it? Who knows. I’m along for the ride though, and all it’s ups and downs. Let’s go, 30!