There’s time

Today, I turned 30. And, having a blog, I’m tempted to write one of those ‘X lessons I learned in X years’ types of posts—where I tell my readers all the things I’ve learned about how to live a full and great life.

Because, now that I am 30, this seems like something I should know how to do.

In fact, it’s this silent expectation—this idea that I ought to have it all figured out—that, I think, propels people to write these types of posts in the first place. At very least, it’s what foments the anxiousness of transitioning from one decade to the next. Because let’s face it, with each decade that passes, not only do we know less than we’d like, but we’re expected to have experienced more than we have.

And this is why aging is often met with trepidation. Not because we’re afraid of growing older (age is mostly a number). But because it feels like we’re running out of time.

At the same time, knowing that, at thirty, I could continue to learn and listen and grow for another three decades, and still have time to do just that—I think this is a flagrantly naive assumption. Which is exactly why I’m not going to offer up any advice on the topic of ‘lessons to be learned’ today.

Because I don’t know everything. Or, for that matter, much of anything. And so, instead—at the expense saying anything—I’ll simply say, there’s time.

To learn something you never have. Or to do something you've always wanted.

This decade or the next. Or, if you’re lucky, perhaps another.

After all, a new chapter isn't the same as being out of pages.