For as long as I can remember, 30 has cast a shadow over me – always creeping closer, looming, threatening and mocking me with its finality. From about the age of 15, I had earmarked 30 as the age by which I would have accomplished all of my life goals – successful journalist, well-traveled, married with children, published a novel… you know, the usual. For some ridiculous reason I believed that if I hadn’t achieved these things by 30, they were as good as gone. As if human beings become incapable of ambition and creativity once they have lived through three decades.
While I’m busy working away at ticking some of those boxes, a sense of calm has come over me as I’ve realized that 30 is not the end of the world. You can continue learning, trying new things, succeeding, failing and trying for as long as you wish. You can even go back to work and continue having a wonderful career after having children if you like (gasp). Oh and you definitely don’t have to have children when the thought of doing so still scares the crap out of you. Pretty asinine revelations for most, but completely reassuring for someone as highly strung and neurotic as myself.
As a lover of list making, it’s hard to avoid the constant pressure of the single most significant list – that of ‘life goals’. But as I fast approach that seemingly noxious age (I can hear AK and my family laughing at the melodrama, only just having turned 24 and all), it becomes more apparent that the ‘life goals’ list is a fluid one. Definitely not set in stone. Items on the list get scribbled out, new items are added and things that were way down the bottom before make their way to the very top.
Sometimes I have to stand back and remind myself that I am still young and I guess that’s what this post is about. Forgetting the pressure of lists and expectations and certain ages. Plus I’m about to marry my dream man in 45 days, so
that’s a big fat tick next to one of my life goals I’m no longer keeping lists.