This week I turned the big 3-0. How strangely different it feels than when I turned 20 -- mostly because it doesn't feel strange at all.
I feel like I know who I am the most on this birthday than any birthday before it. And I wouldn't trade that confidence for any carefree year of my 20s.
As I was laying awake the night before my birthday, Scott asked me "Are you scared to be 30?"
I laughed so hard, I nearly choked.
Scared? Heck no.
I welcome the confident, wise, mature person I'm becoming.
I welcome the "I don't care what you think about me" attitude as I walk into Target unshowered after a long work day.
I welcome the "I'm a pale, freckle-faced ginger who doesn't tan" pride that my younger self never had.
I welcome the ability to put myself in others' shoes in a way I didn't experience before. The exhausted mother who snaps at her whiny kid in Target doesn't mean she's a horrible mom, it just means she's surviving. The guy who cut you off in traffic isn't necessarily a jerk, he might just be late to work after his kid had a meltdown that morning.
So … am I scared?
Nah. I'm ready.
At least for the next nine years. Then I might reconsider.