Dear Me,
I am finally, officially, truly, 30 years old.
When I was 25 years old, I experienced a quarter-life crisis. I questioned some life decisions I made, I questioned the meaning of life, and I questioned my own existence. I questioned, I read books, I asked friends who are 30+ years old — “Will I get my answers when I am 30 years old?”
Five years have gone by like in a second. I don’t really believe in ages or numbers. But 30 is a magic number of ages. I got my answers to the meaning of life and the purpose of my existence. For all the life decisions I made, I regret none. It doesn’t mean I made no mistakes, I do; it doesn’t mean I am perfect, I am far from perfection, I am deeply flawed. It means if I would get another chance to restart everything, I would make the same decisions, and everything would be the same.
Now, at 30 years old, I am peaceful, hopeful, grateful, happy, and energetic. I like myself now more than at any time in my life. I still have nothing, but I feel like I have everything; I know what I want, not desires or wishes, but really, what I want in my life I can’t live without; I am still flawed, but I know my worth, and I don’t need any external approval or recognition; I still have fears, or, not “fears”, but one fear, I am afraid of losing the people who love me and I love, and I would never be able to have that kind of love again.
I don’t own the future, there is no future, and the past is passed, I only have now. Now, at 30 years old, I am satisfied with everything I have, and there is a lot I want to do, I need to do, I have to do.
I thank everyone in my life, my parents, families, teachers, bosses, co-workers, friends, and strangers. I wish we all are safe, healthy, and happy. Thank you.
Happy 30-year-old birthday to me. Thank me.
(Originally published on Sept 20, 2020 on Substack)
