When I turned thirty, some thirty-something years ago, it was a turning point for me. I truly felt that I had finally grown up. I was a big woman. Married with two kids, just purchased my second home, a working career with a great future, and I was secretly thinking of adding one more kid to my small family. Secretly because my husband didn’t know about this plan just yet, and quite frankly he never really knew. It just happened – that’s my story and I am sticking to it.
It was a time full of excitement, lots to look forward to with a growing family. Lots of places to go, people to meet. I held a party at my home to mark the momentous occasion. Friends, family, food, drink, music and dancing of course. As you can imagine, there are a few stories that we reflect on from time to time with our close friends, in awe of what could only be termed as reckless behaviour in this day and age.
There was a certain excitement in my life with what I could only dream were many years of fun and adventure in my future. I was ready to take it all on.
My youngest son turns 30 today. He has just recently landed a job ticking all his boxes. He is single, not that this is a plug but I could take applications – LOL just kidding. He’s just spent the past two days celebrating with friends – fete after fete after fete, as they say. I tried to curtail his enthusiasm with sage advice. It didn’t work. He was determined to put his mark on this milestone.
He organised a party at our home. Friends, family, food, drink, music and some dancing. My husband and I retreated early to our ‘not so quiet’ space as we were no longer ‘needed’. There was certainly a lot of noise, laughter, singing and from the Instagram pics, there was dancing as well. Thank God he warned the neighbours.
The morning-after clues revealed in no uncertain terms that a fun time was had by all and that my thirty-year old was responsible. The house was cleaned, leftovers put away or given away, and the bar empty or tidy – depends on the perspective. But he was missing in action. My husband insisted on calling him, but I knew in my heart that he was just stretching his celebration to the limit. And he was. Going to be beach was next on his list of adventures. I was hoping that this was this last hurrah of the celebrations. A quick pit stop to stock the cooler, and he was off.
Turning thirty has not changed. It is still a force to be reckoned with – no matter the era. It’s a turning point as you head towards the more responsible time of your life. It is to a large extent leaving a bit of your youth behind. A youth you’ve lived to the fullest, taking with you your memories, your joie-de-vivre and your optimism for the best future ahead.