RE: Thirty. Flirty? Thriving?

Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls, Dearest Gentle Readers,

This is officially my first blog post as a thirty-year-old (Cue *record scratch* *tires squealing* *glass breaking*).

I am officially old, right?

Over the last few years, as I rapidly approached my thirties, it seemed like I was also approaching impending doom, unable to dewire a ticking time bomb that had been thrust into my pocket. 

I was led to believe that by the time I turned thirty, my life should (would?) have all but fallen into place, and from there on out, I would be able to coast on an already-outlined existence. In case you haven’t been following along on these irregular updates, try as I might, that is, unfortunately, spoiler alert, not the case.

The path my life is ultimately going to take might be becoming temporarily clearer. Still, nothing is set in stone the way I expected it would be at twenty, twenty-three, and, let’s be honest here, twenty-seven and twenty-eight. (By twenty-nine, I had realistically and somewhat begrudgingly accepted my fate.) And I felt time was running out.

Then, something unexpected happened.