In March, I had a birthday.
I turned 30.
I wasn’t ready to turn 30.
There was so much I wanted/needed to do before I turned 30. I wanted to have a best seller, I wanted to have a huge house, I wanted to travel and tour for my books, I wanted THE WORLD TO KNOW MY NAME!
Okay…maybe not the last one, but I wanted so much and 30 just came way too soon. I’m not there yet, I kept telling myself. I am not where I should be.
That was my dream when I was younger. I knew that I wanted to be a writer and I told myself by the time I was 30 I would have accomplished all those things.
My husband decided to throw me a birthday party and I wasn’t into that. The last thing I wanted for my birthday was to get dressed up, get cards telling me” it’s all downhill from here” or “30 is the new 20.”
30 is freaking 30. Geez!
The morning of my birthday, I wasn’t happy. It could have been all in my head but I had so many body aches and I had no clue where they came from. My knees hurt, my back was in pain and I wished that I could sleep the whole day.
Then I noticed my husband was cleaning and I knew that he intended to have a party for me anyway. My daughters were snickering and I knew they had a secret. They must have bought me something. They all seemed to be in good spirits.
I was sitting on the couch trying to control my anxiety.
When it was time for the party, I just sat on the couch and watched TV hoping no one showed up so I could get out of these “dress up clothes” and put on my plaid pajamas and watch “Deadly Women” on Investigative Discovery Channel.
A few people showed up and I had to pretend to be happy. In my head I was upset that on my birthday I had to engage in small talk (which I hate) and entertain guests. My husband and the kids seemed a little upset that not as many people showed up as they expected.
I didn’t like when they seemed unhappy. When the party was over, they all expressed to me how much they loved me and how they wanted to make my 30th birthday a great one. I felt guilty for being such a party pooper all day. They worked hard and I just sat on the couch pitying myself.
I realized if I don’t celebrate my birthday I don’t get cake.
More importantly, I actually realized that I have accomplished a lot in my 30 years. I own two businesses, I have 3 beautiful and smart girls, I have been happily married for 7 years, I have two novels published and I helped someone else get published. I have overcome the odds for someone like me who came from poverty and was able to accomplish more than what was expected.
It is okay to dream, but my dreams at 12 were not based on reality. Now that I think about it…i’m not so fond of traveling unless I have my family with me. Plus, I don’t intend to fly or jet set all over the country. I hate flying, driving, riding a train, taking a boat or any other means of traveling. I don’t really need a huge house that I have to clean. The more rooms the more I have to clean and I prefer just to write.
I still want to be a bestseller though and eat lots of cake.