It’s so ironic to sit down and write something about turning 30, an age at which I was previously convinced was one of Having It All Figured Out™️ — when I, in this moment, have never in my adult life felt emotionally closer to the 22, 16, and even 12-year-old versions of myself. I had a grand plan to write a list of lessons I’ve learned over the past three decades, but to sit down and write that feels deeply fraudulent at a time when I have somehow never felt younger, dumber, or less wise.
I spent this past weekend in Palm Springs with five of my favorite people in the whole world, people ranging from my sister and cousin, who have known me since I was born (and have experienced every milestone with me since), to a few of the best friends I made in my early 20s. They so graciously joined me for a long weekend of sun and celebration, and they went well out of their way to make me feel incredibly loved (and it worked! We had an AMAZING time!). Simultaneously and unrelatedly, I’m experiencing the phenomenon of one of my TikToks going viral — strangers on the Internet are offering messages of support for an idea I had, support I did very little to earn. In the past few days, I have received a level of love — both from people I know and from randos on TikTok — that, in theory, should sustain me for days, weeks, months, and years to come.
Theory and practice, however, have a way of differentiating themselves — leading me to find myself, on the Saturday morning of my own birthday trip, sitting on the curb of a side street off North Palm Canyon, crying into my phone as I asked my dad why I couldn’t do anything right. The weekend was SO fun — we ate delicious food, went on a beautiful hike, spent ample time by the pool, and laughed so much. I could, however, feel myself snapping at my friends while also not enjoying the beauty of the scenery and the experiences we were having. It felt as if I landed in Palm Springs and became the most insecure and least empathetic version of myself, even while having genuine fun with my favorite people. (In short, I felt myself actively living out the lyrics of “Anti-Hero.”)
I want to acknowledge that you’re probably sitting there and thinking, “I cannot believe this girl is simultaneously telling us how loved and supported she is and also how great her trip was, but ALSO expecting us to empathize with her bad mood and her grumpiness towards her loved ones.” PLEASE hear me when I say that I’m not looking for sympathy (or for you to tell me that 30 is young — I promise I really do know that) — but in the retelling of the story of the weekend, it’s increasingly clear to me that there is in fact one overarching lesson I’ve learned in the past decade, and it’s one I’m sure I’ll continue to learn for the rest of my life.
I know it’s so cliche, but I genuinely can’t tell you how many times over the past decadeI’ve had to take a deep breath and remind myself that my seemingly incongruous emotions, experiences, or observations are in fact reality — that I’m not making one of them up, and that it’s valid to name them simultaneously… that two things can be true at once.
For example:
I had a genuinely amazing weekend, AND I wish I could do it over — both to re-live it and to show up as a better version of myself.
I am ending my 20s surrounded by love and support I do not deserve, AND I’m still lonely much of the time.
Strangers on TikTok are complimenting me for an idea I had, AND I doubt my capabilities and intelligence multiple times every single day.
I have the funds, opportunity, and privilege to spend a long weekend across the country in a beautiful place, AND I still obsessed over every detail I curated, every dollar I spent, and every outfit I wore.
I had a really, really wonderful time in Palm Springs, AND I also cried four (4!!!!) times while I was there (Please note: Once was in the Chili’s at the Dallas Love airport, but it counts as I was still on the trip).
I came home to a beautiful apartment — AND I’m desperate for the day someone I share it with will greet me at the door.
I have confidence and groundedness I prayed for at 20, AND my insecurities still ran the show at my celebration of 30.
I feel deeply incapable, unprepared, and immature — AND I’ve come so far from where I was, and I also know that the best is still to come.
My hope in sharing this is not that you’re given the reminder to “focus on the positives” OR the opposite — to look for the negatives when things do go well — but rather to remember that real life is messy, nuanced, and positively laced with inconsistencies. While I am a person who tries to focus on the good and the beautiful (and who posts the occasional pre-birthday thirst trap for attention, oops), it’s so important to realize and remember that no one’s experience consists solely of the good and the beautiful. I had such an amazing weekend, but for some of it, my brain was operating the way its younger self would’ve — worried about appearances, other peoples’ happiness and choices, and my own past and future. I wish I had taken several deep California breaths, reminded myself of what’s important, and been kinder to myself and to the people around me. A younger, less therapized (and less medicated) version of myself would’ve beaten myself up for my errors — and while my older self is still taking accountability, she’s also offering grace to herself, to others, and to the many factors of life I can’t control.
I’m told that in your 30s, you care a lot less what people think of you. I’m told things roll off your back and you care less about being perfect — and if there’s anything I look forward to in the coming decade, it’s that. Though I’m disappointed to have spent such a fun, beautiful weekend so overcome by my own doubts, I’m also incredibly grateful to be in a place to recognize that, to use those doubts as data points, and to grow from it.
Lol, I still don’t feel ready to be 30. I am so unexpectedly sad that my future husband will never have met the 20s version of me. I’m proud, however, to have the maturity to realize how young 30 really is — to know that my husband will love whatever age at which he meets me, that Europe will be even better in my 30s, 40s, 50s (or whenever I’m meant to see it), and that each decade will be better than the last.
Cheers to embracing the best of times and feeling thankful for the lessons from the worst — I’m sure there’s a lot more where both came from.
XO, Gail (age 30)