I decided a couple of days ago that I should acknowledge my
birthday this year on my blog, since it is the “big 3-0.” At first, I was going
to title this “30 Is Still the New 20, right?” or something to the effect of
trying to emotionally coddle myself into believing that my 20s were the time of
my life (and that from a beauty standpoint, I’ll never look as good as I did
when I was 20-years-old.)
But then I realized that my 20s honestly were hell, for at
least 8 out of those 10 years.
During my 20s, I battled depression, dropped in and out of
college, drank myself silly, got 2 DUIs, invested in a relationship that caused
me nothing but heartache and time wasted, and although I did have some jobs
that could brighten up my resume, I mainly worked in various bars and Applebee’s.
My ambition wasn’t necessarily low, but for every year I wasted doing things to
make me feel better rather than be better,
I became all too aware that my “moment” was passing right by me, one rapid,
head-spinning year at a time.
Many of those years are a blur. I tried riffling through
some of my old pictures (most of which are packed away on my external hard
drive, because I honestly don’t want to remember them), and I had a hard time
figuring out how old I might’ve been in some of them, or what order things
happened in… Maybe that’s just my old age now! But piecing together the haze
that is my 20s is an ordeal that sends a numbing pain through me. Those years
are nothing but a motley crew of regrets.
I did however find some relevant pictures. And instead of
being overwhelmed by bad memories, something interesting happened: I realized
that I may have just gotten better looking with age.
The first photograph is of me when I was maybe 19, though I
can’t exactly remember. The sepia tone of the photo I’m sure helped to hide
some of the acne I was struggling with. I was also most assuredly intoxicated
when the picture was taken, as was the norm for me back then. The second
photograph was taken only a couple of months ago. I’m sure that today, I have a
few more lines on my face, but they are lines that I’m learning to love. And
maybe it’s just that I now know how to fill in my eyebrows, but… I much prefer
the 30-year-old me.
This “before” photo is of me and my friend Jen on our
birthdays; I was turning 25…? I think it’s 25. As you can tell we had been
living it up that night, and I recall that it was in the wee hours of the
morning when that photo was taken of us. Though I did always enjoy my time out
with my lovely friend, I wish someone had told us how haggard we were starting
to look! We look like we need to just go home and get some beauty sleep, am I
right? This is probably one of the least flattering photos of me that I have of
myself. And I remember as I was throwing back shots of tequila that night with
her that I justified all of it and my “quarter-life crisis,” as John Mayer once
put it.
The second photo is of me on my 28th birthday,
blissfully pregnant and as happy as I could be. Perhaps it’s the pregnancy glow
or the glow of new sobriety, but this photo is one of my favorite photos of
myself and is framed and hanging on our wall in our home.
A popular adage today is that
“30 is the New 20.” I read in Psychology
Today that this idea has helped breed an entire generation of youth who
believe that their 20s are now a time to live it up, make mistakes and squelch
their ambitions, and then at 30 finally get down to business. And so now we
have a plethora of 30-somethings who are just now learning how to build their
careers, have meaningful relationships, and discover who they really are.
Though I agree, I have to say
here that there are plenty of people my age who didn’t waste those 10 years
like I did. I am a somewhat special case and don’t for a second think that
everyone who chose to drink and party and work in restaurants when they were in
their 20s made even half the mistakes that I did. This post isn’t a judgement
towards anyone. I’m reminiscing about my own time not well spent…
I am a big believer that
things happen with a reason in mind. Six days after my 26th
birthday, I met the man who would change my life, my husband Christopher. And
at 28, I had our daughter, Julia, who has changed the person I aim to be. I know
that if many of those past mistakes and regrets and bad choices hadn’t
happened, it would’ve changed the trajectory of my life, and I wouldn’t have
these two wonderful people here with me.
Now I’m 30. And yes, I look
back all the time and kick myself for not having done all the things I believed
I would’ve done- finished college, started a legitmate writing career, etcetera
etcetera. But I’m just now understanding that 30 isn’t some magical cut-off
point for dreams or careers or education or beauty (especially!) I look forward
to my 30s like you wouldn’t believe! I feel like the next ten years are going
to be the real “time of my life” when I actually claim that life back and
decide to treat it and myself better.
And so, at the risk of this
post turning into a highly-validated Bridget Jones moment, I’m going to go
munch on some of my homemade paleo
peaches and cream cake and then doll myself
up for my girls’ outing tonight.
J
