On Sunday, September 11th, it will be officially 2 months into the last 3 years of my late 20s. Something that was very important to me during the last few days of being 26. It is amazing what the mind can conjure up in times of stress and impending deadlines. I will be turning 30 in 3 years. Shocking. Horrifying. Definite.
If you have visited my blog in the past, you may have noticed that I have a unrealistic obsession with the age 30. For some odd reason, I believe it equates this magical period in one’s life when all the questions are somehow answered with sudden clarity. Ironically, most people in their 30’s laugh when mention this solid ideal of utter adult bliss. However, I am steadfast in my beliefs and will forever assume that I will be taken care of by the age.
Until I realized the time is approaching me way too fast and I have yet to find that sweet spot of hope that I was craving since my late teenagers. Wasn’t life supposed to be falling into place by now? Like really making a statement of
“Hey, this is Christina. And she is a grown up. She is successful at this adult thing.”
But as I continue to eat my Ramen noddles while watching overly emotional K-Dramas (my current fav is Uncontrollably Fond; the soundtrack is at least worth a listen if you’re not into hospital scenes, unrequited love that turns reverses into true love than hate, and excessive crying about everything), it is kinda of hard to see success over here in my late 20s. I mean by meager societal standings, I am quite success: I have an apartment in a well to do part of town. A I have a car that is decent enough to look at. A job(s) that pay the bills on time. And I don’t have any mental or physical issues kicking in my gut.
But my panties are still a wad. There is this sense of confusion that enters into my mind in the mornings. Just staring at the ceiling thinking what am I missing? Where am I not being an adult in my life? What am I doing?
Sometimes I like to blame social media. There is this constant need to prove who you are to people that you don’t even talk to. If you’re not posting a status, tweet, or picture of you successfully adulting, there is something utterly wrong you. The #teamnosleep or #gettingmoney hashtags are always coming for your wallet and career while the world traveler is silently judging the empty pages of your passport. But is that really the problem?
Can I honestly sit here and blame my lack of comfort in my late 20s on others? Do I want these things because they are normal for 30 or is it something I really desire to have? To be completely real, I am not sure. And maybe that is what is pulling on my heart when I look at 30.
It’s the fear of not knowing that is leading me toward false hopes and promises of a life that I believe will instantly appear. A treasured gift given to me for surviving for this long. When in reality, it will just be another day out of a year I spent hoping for something to change that did not.
But who is to blame when it does not change? Not the media or society. Only me. The beautiful thing about reclaiming something that is yours is that it is your responsibility to do so. It is in your hands to take back what was lost or stolen or in this case, forgotten.
They always say the first step to recovery is acceptance but they rarely tell you how to get to completion. So no, I can not tell you how to approach your life if you find yourself in my shoes. Nor I can say what my step will be. But I can stop making excuses for the burnt out lies I keep telling myself. For these last three years of my late 20s, I’m not going to lie to myself about the greener pastures of 30. But I am going to get off my ass and do something at 27.
As always, make you sure you like, comment, and follow this blog as well as connect with me on my other channels. Until next time, keep feeding your weird.