30

For the first time in my life, I feel my age. I am 30. I feel 30. It’s not pleasant. Not that 30 is old. Especially in these times when we have people routinely hitting the 100 mark. (Talk about feeling old! ) But to me, 30 seems like an actual tick mark on the timeline that is my life. Why? Probably because of my own expectations. After all, they say we are only as old as we feel. Well, by 30, I expected a lot more out of my life. I was hoping for more – peace, contentment, stability – something. At the very least, I would have liked to have been close to owning my own home by now. Instead, we (me and the hubby) are still renting and working on paying off our debt and both working two jobs to make that a reality. 

I know I have no one to blame but myself for the fact that I’m at a place I dislike. I mean, no one held me back, no one took opportunities from me. I simply never pursued any portion of my life with enough passion to have accomplished those things I wished to accomplish. And every time I’d think about how to accomplish something, reality (ie. finances) would rear it’s ugly head. Want to start a business? Don’t have the capital to do so.  Want to go back to school, don’t have the capital or time to do so. Things like that. And the fact that I’ve wasted a lot of my life having spectacular pity parties for myself. I am a champion pity partier. I even have a half finished blog I just ran across that whines about the fact that no one will listen to me complain anymore. Hmmm. I think it was my common sense screaming for a voice that led me not to finish that one. 
But, I’m thirty now. If I knew someone like me, I’d have no sympathy for her and in fact, I’d be disgusted at what a whiny little brat she was. “Grow up! Your 30 for crying out loud” is what I’d be yelling at her. So, I’m yelling it at myself. I’m 30 for crying out loud. If I want something, I have to make it happen. If I want to be someone else, I have to change who I am. Oh, and I really need to quit whining. 
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