Hello 30,
I almost didn’t want to write this letter to you. In fact, a part of me still doesn’t want to continue after this line. It is not because I think there’s nothing noteworthy to look back on at this age. It’s more that I think there’s so much to protect, that I want to keep to myself and I resisted even putting pen to paper.
Besides, when I went back to read my older letters, I cringed badly. They were the exact reason why I didn’t want to write at all in the first place. The words I read in those pages felt alien, and unlike anything related to the woman I have suddenly become. I say suddenly because it’s not even been that long. For some reason, I could not feel any attachment to the girls that wrote in the past years. And at first, that feeling sealed my decision: I would not write a letter to 30.
It worried me though because how could I feel such a strong disconnection from words I remember writing so joyously? It is understandable to look back at 25 and feel distant, but surely not the words I heartily penned at 29? That was only a year ago, surely I hadn’t evolved that much? How could a tradition that once felt like a sanctuary begin to feel like a cage?
I didn’t understand it. So I took these thoughts outside of my own head. I knew I had to, because I was acting as both judge and jury of my own state of mind. I needed an outside perspective to see if what I was feeling was genuine self-preservation or just unreasonable fear. In the end, a single realization rewired my thinking completely: the lens the 26-year-old me used to view my world is no longer the same, and it is okay for me to have outgrown things I wrote in the past.
It turned out I still do want to write to myself. I just don’t want to write the way I used to. The structure I laid out six years ago no longer captures the container of my mind, and although it was somewhat agonizing for me to admit, I know it’s a beautiful thing to outgrow the emotional habits of one’s younger years.
I don’t want future me to look back years from now and regret that I didn’t write this because I felt “disconnected” from my past selves. I know she will not care whether it was cringey or flawless but she will care that there now lies a gap in the archive and that will hurt far more than this temporary inconvenience I feel. So, for her, I write.
Hello again, 30.
I begin this with the biggest smile on my face. First of all, a notable shout-out to my most beautiful age so far. The one where I found that true beauty isn’t stiffly rooted in how I looked because my essence wasn’t even ever about my face or anything outwardly. There’s a saying about when you’re that girl, it doesn’t matter what you wear or how you look, you have no choice but to be that girl. You were and always will be THAT girl, and not even the pox could take any of that away.
It has been a busy year. The busiest year ever, in fact but my girl, you were ready for it. If there’s a saying that captures it better than hitting the ground running, then it would be very appropriate in explaining the extent of your readiness. Life has a way of preserving us, even when it feels like denial. This year, it turned out the universe was never keeping anything from you. Rather, you were being kept for something more. Turns out if you will carry something bigger, you have to build your capacity up to it so that it doesn’t overwhelm you. In recent past, I have watched you grow from weakness to strength: physically, mentally, and spiritually and in this year, it all added up so meaningfully.
My beautiful girl with the most beautiful heart. We embraced our shadows like we said we would and it’s been remarkable to see how quickly the world has turned around to accommodate the balance which you now uphold in your inner one. You struggled so much with maintaining visibility this year. I remember the conversation with friends about what mattered and what we thought didn’t. At some point, you were torn between opening up and guarding your world. Even though holding back sometimes felt like wasting your voice, deep down you knew that sharing in that way was just another way of handing parts of yourself over to an audience that was never meant to validate you anyway. This year, you stopped thinking your potential has to be visible to be valuable, especially in a world where you’re urged to put yourself out there before you are ready. “Don’t worry, the right audience will find you”. The truth is I actually didn’t want anyone to find me, I wanted to be left alone.
Did that stop someone from finding you though? No, it didn’t. And so, forelsket.
Big girl, bigger dreams. I remember you asked yourself whether you were climbing this mountain because you wanted to be able to see or be seen. I love that you didn’t think twice before yelling “both!”. Because truly, what would you gain from lying to yourself? It’s a big sacrifice you are making and I know the ancestors are proud. I know I am proud and I know that future us will look back and beam in admiration of the one that made it all happen. I know you think it could have been sooner but no, it couldn’t have been because it had to be you. Only you could walk this path now with your feet solid on the earth. Only you could.
Out of everything I wanted to write about, the most important one has to be about my gratitude. From the depth of my heart and the deepest crevices of my soul, I am thankful for my 30th year. I am thankful for my health, I am thankful for my well-being. I am thankful for means, I am thankful for ends. For the full calendar, for the days I couldn’t hear from the noise. For solitude, for the days I could rest in my bed. For the moments I wish I could pause and the moments that will last forever. For my imperfect family that loves me without doubt and my supportive friends that find me wherever I hide. For the wind behind my back and the roads that inevitably rise up to meet me. For clarity, for growth and for the intensity that will never die.
Thank you, my girl. You did what you had to, and you did it so beautifully. Even when it was chaotic, confusing and lonely, I will forever recognise the gift of your steadfastness. This is goodbye, 30. You were the bridge between the girl who needed to be seen and the woman who is completely content just being. Thank you for rebuilding my capacity, for keeping my inner world safe, and for teaching me that the quietest victories are often the loudest ones. As I step into 31, I don’t carry any grand demands or expectations. I simply bring my full self, feet solid on the ground, face close to the sun, and ready for everything that lies ahead.
Over to you, 31.