Every day for the last year, I made sure to say out loud (at least once), “I’m 29.”

It wasn’t vanity. It wasn’t about savoring every last minute of my twenties. It was more about reminding myself I only had to get through one more year. One more year and then my twenties would be over. I would be thirty.
That’s today, guys. I’m thirty and I couldn’t be happier. It’s not that I didn’t love my twenties. The past decade has been full of the incredible: incredible growth, incredible pain, and incredible joy. If you’ll allow me a moment of self-indulgent sappiness, I’ll tell you the biggest thing that happened to me during the previous decade. Are you ready for this ridiculously cheesy secret?
I met myself in my twenties, y’all.
When I started out this decade, I had absolutely no idea who I was. And yet somehow through all the distractions, between being an evangelical Christian and dropping out of college, going through my parents’ divorce and the death of my grandmother, venturing out on my own for the first time, leaving Christianity, between significant relationships and important friendships, through mistakes made, and in moving to Seattle, it happened. I met myself.
Maybe that’s what the twenties are for — meeting yourself. If so, my twenties were successful. And I’m glad they are over. Because now I’m thirty. And my thirties are going to be an even bigger adventure. My thirties are going to test me and teach me more than I can possibly imagine right now. And they are going to be magical.
Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the celebrations of the weekend. I’ll talk about the lessons I’ve learned in my thirty years on this earth. But today? Right now? I’m just going to snuggle into my favorite flannel sheets, the dog at my feet, and fall asleep grinning and whispering to myself that I’m thirty and flirty and thriving.
I’m thirty now, guys. And I’m going to be good at it.
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