I’ve got 8 weeks left of being thirty, 8 weeks of what’s been the best decade of my life. I keep saying this mile stone out loud, dropping it into conversations like a confession, . Verbally processing the concept that the end is nigh.
I had no idea why I kept doing it, I never made this much fuss turning thirty and my twenties were a welcome sight.
And then it struck me, one lazy Sunday morning as I lay in bed while watching my son snoozing next to me, his beautiful little face so perfect, his hand touching my arm knowing he was safe in mummy’s bed.
Everything was perfect.
That was why I was so reluctant to let go of this last year and step into the unknown forties. So much has happened which made my life complete and my worry was how would I match this? I’ve reached my destination, project me was complete. Everything I strived for these last 10 years achieved.
If I’d climbed this high, was the only way down?
Could I maintain the momentum of happiness and perfection which had built up over 10 blissful years?
I’m an optimistic person at heart so this pondering and niggling feeling confused me. But when I looked back at younger years, the signs were there. The terrible teenage years, where I threw away my education for a life of defiance and risk taking. The twenties, when I should’ve been leaving university and at the start of a career but instead stuck in a dead-end job So much happened in those years that changed me forever and there was a time when I thought all was lost.
I had no ambition, no dreams and no idea how to make things better.
And then I became a mum and everything changed. Suddenly I had focus and a desire to plan for a brighter, better future. One where I could not only provide for my son but be a role model, I’d teach him to reach for the stars show him nothing was out-of-bounds.
Time was more precious than ever, my focus sharp and my goal insight yet in those 10 years I’d learnt to drive, completed a degree, carved a career, set up a business and had another baby.
So you’ll excuse my hesitation at leaving my most productive years behind, these are the years when I became me. The happy, business owning, ambitious mum of three.
As I wonder if turning 40 means leaving my happy place.
Special thanks to Pouting In Heels who inspired me to finish writing this post.