30 Going on 31
A short reflection from your friendly neighborhood thirty-something.
A year ago today, I posted my first entry on this Substack—an essay about turning thirty years old. I knew it when I wrote that post, but rereading it back made me certain: I was very freaked out about turning 30. Age should be arbitrary, but for many reasons, it can feel so personal. To quote a discussion from the Mockingcast, I often struggle to make sense of “the life we’re given versus the life we think we should have.”
In a couple of days, I will turn another year older. And I have to tell you this, too: I am happy to be living the life I have been given. For most of my twenties, I lived under the weight of my own “shoulds.” Should be dating more, should be married, should have kids…and if not that, then I should have more money saved for retirement, should be over that body insecurity, should have more scripture memorized, should be better at this and that and living with Hashtag No Regrets™️.
My goodness—what a heavy yoke, my own expectations can be.
Over and over again in year 30, I feel as if I was offered opportunities to release my “shoulds” and gain a hopeful vision for all the ways to live vibrantly and faithfully in the unique life I have today. In some ways, the future has never felt so uncertain—but maybe that’s because I’m finally realizing how little control I have over all the outcomes I assumed would unfold in adulthood. The thing I am finally learning is that life is not predictable, even for those of us who prepare and plan like it is.
“Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction,” writes Wendell Berry1. What a line! What a relief!
To walk faithfully in the ways of Jesus sometimes will mean taking a path that appears to make very little sense. But this is not a flaw of the Gospel but a feature. Does it make sense for God to become man? Does it make sense that the poor and the mourning and the meek would be called blessed? Does it make sense that losing our lives, or at least the things we thought we wanted from them, would actually help us feel more alive?
A few more days and I will be 31. I’ve never felt more alive. My heart is more tender, I still cry and have fear and wonder what’s next. But my goodness, do I feel awake to the presence of a living and loving God, who is working in all things.
P.S. — If you’re reading this, I just want to say thank you for following along as I chronicle life in my thirties here on this Substack. It never ceases to amaze me that people I don’t even know (and some I do!) would care to spend their free time reading thoughts I typed with poor posture from my couch. If you’re new here, here’s a short list of some of my favorite entries I’ve written as I’ve processed through the last year:
Spiritual Formation Dropout: An essay about backsliding, failed attempts at spiritual formation, and quitting grad school before I even started.
What I Got Wrong About Christian Calling: An authoritative word on career and calling from a woman who once had five different jobs in five years.
Crocuses: A vignette for my sister-in-law.
Talk to you later,
Grace
From my favorite poem of all time: Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
Yes to this! This has been my year 32/33.
I too have a birthday in a couple days, and am feeling a similar strain of existential melancholy. Thank you for this - it’s helping me process my own feelings!