With my 30th birthday approaching like a hangover from your early 20s, I began contemplating how I got to where I am today. It sounds dramatic but, please bear with me.
I will be turning 28 next month and have made my peace with the fact. In fact, I am ready to embrace the entangled wonders of being a reasonably shitty adult with the confidence of an older man in a public sauna. Don’t mistake my word choice of using shitty as an adjective for self demeanour, for I am more than happily enamoured with myself, but like in a healthy way. Shitty stands for everything we, adults, must do to uphold a certain level of comfort we have become quite fond of in light of our newfound careers.
I always wanted to be one of those who take risks, quit their jobs, and move to a country where nobody knows them to start anew doing pretty much the opposite of what they have spent-god-knows-how-long doing at their office jobs from which they ran. I don’t have the balls nor the mental strength to cope with the fact that nothing will be certain anymore if I do something so scandalous. I am not a scandalous person, but I love to wear a scandalous outfit now and then, and my shopping receipts are quite scandalous. I like eating at restaurants, drink my wines and cocktails, release my daily demons with my scandalous expensive fountain pen on my very specifically chosen leather notebook, and enjoy buying home decor items or more books than I can read in a short period of time. The finer and certain things in life call my name, and I feel inclined to always answer.
I wished for many years to be someone I have recently come to accept that I am, in fact, not. I know I sound like a snob, and I can assure you I am so far from being one. Still, anyone who says they would choose a life of struggle over enjoying the luxuries provided by the steady job they have is an absolute liar and can drop the act because no one is buying.
A quick side note: The previously made statement does not wish to pick a fight with anyone feeling the opposite. It is entirely my personal opinion because of the job that I have. Luckily enough, I do not love it, nor do I hate it, which is of high importance because if you hate your job, it’s not worth it. Run for the hills, move to that forsaken faraway country, make new friends, do whatever you have to do to find happiness again. Happiness is key. It is the end game.
Recently, I was talking to one of my dearest friends, and we both started to laugh at ourselves after realizing we have now reached the time in our lives when appliances, porcelains, and sophisticated recipes are the new porn. Not one to substitute the original sin, but exciting enough to come second place. How did life get here? Adding buying vases on my to-do lists and going to Ikea happier than I ever went to a party in my entire life.
It’s funny how we complain about adulthood when it is actually the most wonderful time of our lives. I think being 30 is going to be pretty amazing, having the freedom and finances to do everything I craved in my 20s without having to rely on help from the family. At last, being wise enough not to make decisions that will scar me for the rest of my life also counts as a super bonus. Thanks, fine lines, expensive beauty products, and scattered grey hairs! I will always treasure my 20s, but I don’t necessarily think I will miss them.