Reflecting on youth from its upper limit
Looking back, moving forward, and grappling with the passage of time.
In August, I turned 30 and it was amazing. It was the peak of summer in South Western France, I was surrounded by 30 of my best friends, my mum, and my sisters, and to top it all off, Andy asked me to be his wife. As I have said before, it was the best weekend, day, moment of my life, and in the months that have followed, I have felt the blinkers come off and my whole future appear more clearly in front of me.
I feel great about my 30s. I know myself so well now, my friendships are deep and abundant, work is going better than ever, and I’m making more money than I ever did in my 20s — to say nothing of love! People always say that it doesn’t make much difference to get engaged, but they are wrong. While before I might have likened my relationship to a big, sturdy garden bench — lovely, comfortable, supportive — getting engaged took me to the top of Table Mountain. A place from which I can see far into the distance, and an ultimate symbol of stability, safety, and sure ground beneath my feet. I’ve felt a lot of joy and excitement looking ahead to the rest of my life. The adventures, the family, the projects, the challenges. But I would be remiss not to admit to looking back over my shoulder with a very real sense of nostalgia.
Jasmin, my 20-year old sister, started uni in September and hearing her talk about it jolts me right back to 2013. To living in halls, spending all my time with friends (many of whom were at my 30th), going out every night, drinking too much, and not really having any responsibilities apart from showing up to class. Jolting me back even further, and this might sound totally ridiculous, has been rewatching Gossip Girl these past few nights and flashing back to all the fun and chaos and drama and naughtiness of high school — the sneaking out, the sneaking in, the nights in sticky-floored Brussels nightclubs, the sleepovers at friends houses, the snogging, the school and studying as well, I guess.
All those days are far behind me — I knew that already — but recently they have felt very, very far behind. In a way that makes me realise that I’m actually not that young anymore. I know, I know! 30 is young! But if you think of life as a 90-year, 3-act play, 30 marks the beginning of the second act, and it’s hard not to feel a little grief about that, no matter how bright the future looks from where I am standing.
Part of the difficulty comes from the fact that in the last couple of years, I’ve started to see my face age. Nothing dramatic, just a few little lines on the forehead, a furrow between my brows — especially when I wake up — thinner skin under my eyes, and some quite sweet crow’s feet when I smile. I try to see these changes less as assaults on my person than the gentle hands of time marking my face and body with experience, adventure, and wisdom. But that’s hard sometimes in the society we live in. One where youth is clung onto for dear life. Where it’s seen as some kind of failing to submit to the passage of time. And where women especially are tempted into spending their hard earned cash on creams and procedures that may actually do more harm than good. I’ve been, and remain, pretty scathing about things like Botox, so that will never be an option for me — I’d rather have wrinkles than be a hypocrite — but it makes me sad that people feel like they need these things to keep up appearances.
Standing on this threshold between Acts 1 and 2, I look ahead and see the real guts of life — the joy, the promise, the fun the years ahead have in store. But I also look back and feel a certain sadness that part of my life is over and isn’t ever coming back. It makes me think that, as a society, we need more rites of passage. Occasions, tools, rituals, ceremonies where you celebrate the passage of time, show gratitude for the good and the bad of one era, bid it farewell, and move fully into the next with all its own beauties and burdens. I want to move ahead without feeling as though I’m clasping onto something that doesn’t want to come with me. To look back at my past at whatever age and feel as though I had my turn and did my best at it, to feel glad that it happened, but also happy to be where I am now and excited for what will come next.
But maybe life isn’t divided up quite so neatly. Maybe it’s normal to feel a longing for what was, and as long as it doesn’t become a harmful preoccupation, a distraction from the now, or a fear of the future, maybe that’s fine. Because, to loop back round to my newly minted 30s, I have actually never felt so happy, loved, fulfilled, or future-facing as I do right now, and a little nostalgia never really hurt anybody.
See you in the next one,
Annabel
I just turned 30 too, and I feel very similarly! Happy Birthday!
This was well thought out and I appreciated the vulnerability. To age is an honor.