Thursday, March 1, 2018

30

So.

I'm 30 years old.
Young.
Old... it depends how you look at it.
I looked at the "30 years old" birthday card I received from mom and it looked a little surreal. I couldn't tell if I shouldn't be this old yet or if I should be older.

I feel mature, and immature all at the same time.
I feel like I am where I always wanted to be, yet so displaced at the same time.
I have a lot of assumptions, a lot of understanding, but I know nothing.

I don't think I should have it figured out. Everyone says by 30 you should have it figured out. That's bullshit. I don't think we should ever really have it figured out; once you do, you might as well be dead. It's the journey not the destination right? What if swimming in this endless ocean and being brought back to shore and coming back in and being brought back and repeating this pattern forever is actually what life's all about? What if we never find a purpose in life, rather we see that everything around us IS the reason: to swim in it?

I believe I have solidified my understanding of myself throughout my 20s ... for now.
I may have become a new Lydia about 10 times in my 20s.
That's once a year.





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