Today is my birthday.
I’m 29 years old.
You can be almost anywhere in life at 29. I have a friend that’s a Harvard graduate practicing law in New York City, and another who is a PhD candidate teaching at a nearby University. I have friends who have travelled the world, working as flight attendants, exploring exotic cities and sharing the photo proof on social media. Other friends have graduated university or college, working their way up the corporate ladder. Many friends have bought houses and cars, some are married, with little babes crawling underfoot, settled into the rhythm of responsibility. Others are artists, and some still live at home, not quite sure where they want to go.
Twenty-nine is a number with unlimited potential, but somehow I still feel a bit out of place.
Twenty-nine for me, looks like driving my six-year-old and four-year-old to school, and wishing them a wonderful day. It looks like settling into my new co-working office, where my 18-month-old babbles down the hallway. It looks like browsing job boards and trying to figure out where to apply next. It looks like spending a few hours each week at my kids’ school, volunteering in the classroom and at breakfast club.
Twenty-nine looks like budgeting for gymnastics and swimming lessons, and trying to figure out how to save for my kids’ college and university. It looks like deciding on a career after taking seven year to raise my kids. It looks like driving my minivan to the closest Starbucks and browsing books, taking a moment to breathe and enjoy some quiet in the middle of the chaos.
I didn’t travel during my 20s, and I didn’t build up an established career. I didn’t buy a house, but I did buy a new car – a blue minivan – that I share with my husband. I didn’t discover myself in exotic lands, join an adult sports team, or a pottery club. I did discover what I was truly capable of, inspired by an inner strength that I didn’t know existed, as I built a family that is sustained by love and a lot of home-cooked meals.
Twenty-nine looks like a woman who has worked hard, choosing a bit of a unique path, but finding that every step has brought equal amounts of joy and pain. Its looked like grief over loss, the death of a brother, and the painful reminder of childhood hurts. Its looked like hours of therapy, medication, and a road to recovery that is bumpy and jagged, but full of hope too.
This is my last year in my 20s, and what a decade it has been. I was engaged at 20, married at 21, and a mother by 22. My 20s has been all about discovering a new way of living. I’ve spent the last decade building a new life for myself, becoming a piece of a whole - a family that is sustained by one another.
My 20s has been about leaving behind a past that was me-centred, so focused on survival and independence. But it’s also been about finding myself again, the woman behind the wife and mother, the one who was always there - but was sometimes forgotten.
When you’re 29 it feels a bit like your life has unlimited potential. You’re fresh and young, and there’s so much left of your future. When you’re 29, and have spent nearly a decade married, with a house-filled with kids, it feels like it would be easy to spend another decade doing the same things over and over again.
But for me, 29 feels like hope. It feels like a new leaf. It feels like I can’t predict the future, and I won’t even try, but I’m excited to see what I’m capable of next.
