Six days after my thirtieth birthday.
There’s nothing actually different about thirty, but…
At the same time, everything is different, in the way that things are different from one day to the next, from one week to the next, from one month to the next.
From one year to the next.
I was working on my birthday, but I did get to celebrate it the weekend before with my spouse and my parents during my hometime. This was the second time now that I’ve celebrated my birthday quietly during the pandemic.
Because I’m an introvert to start with, celebrating quietly with only our tiny little bubble doesn’t feel like a diminishing of anything.
Instead, the overall social isolation of the pandemic has given me so many chances to truly consider what I’m doing, and what I want to be doing. As you might guess, these two things no longer align; although I love driving, I don’t love the trucking industry, and I don’t feel like it’s a sustainable option for me in the long term.
I don’t much like talking about plans about the future online for fears that I am going to jinx them or do something that makes them not come true.
But I have plans.
And I have goals.
And I’ve been taking slow but steady steps towards achieving them.
When you put it all together, that’s a helluva lot after stopping to consider the fact that ten years ago, I reliably didn’t feel like I was going to make it to my thirtieth birthday.
So here’s to a decade where I don’t just survive; here’s to a decade where I live.