Thirty

Today is my birthday. Happy birthday to me. The first blog post about my own birthday was ten years ago. It's sometimes very hard to believe that I have had this blog over a decade now. My blog has seen so many of my birthdays since. I've described my birthday parties here, whenever I have had them, and my birthday presents too. A lot have happened during all these years. In a way I am still the same person, and in a way I am not.

I still don't feel like an adult, I'm not sure if I ever will. I consider that to be a good thing. I never really want to grow up. I am happy being this way, feeling young and utterly confused about everything. I've move forward, taken some steps bavkwards and then moved forwards again. That's life, as it is. I've ended relationships, said goodbye to fading friendships, found new love, found new friends, started new things and new chapters.

I am grateful that I have kept my blog all these years, even though I have some years missing here and there. I feel grateful that I have this chronology of my life. I can recall events that I have forgotten, remember feelings, be sad about certain things, be happy about others. This is a gift, truly, and a best birthday gift I could give myself. Sometimes blogging is hard for me. I feel it gets harder the older I get. I am less careless about the things I write, censor myself more. I'm worried about coworkers, future employees finding my blog and expecting me to be the same person I was ten years ago, or even five years ago. I do change, like all humans too. I wish I could let go of my constant fear of being discovered one way or another. I am writing under this pseudonym, but today's technology just makes it harder to hide.

But do I really have anything to hide? Other than my past. But is my past worse than my current moment. Or is my past worse than my future? I don't know. I am just afraid of people making assumptions based on the stupid childish things I've written ten years ago. It's hard to determine the fine line between the person I used to be and the person I am today.

Sometimes even I am consufed about the person I am today. Who am I in the first place? What is the essence of me? When I was younger, like in my teens, I thought that being thirty means being an adult. That by the age of thirty I would have it all figured out. I'd have the education, the career, the everything. Little did I know, indeed. Being thirty is no different than being twenty, at least in my book.

I do have the education now though. And I am actually trying to get back to school, to get a higher education. I don't really need it, but I am thinking why not. I can study while I'll work, I should be able to arrange it. I think getting another degree could give me a kick to some new direction. I am not sure if I need it or want it, but it's good to have some options open and explore new possibilities. It can't hurt. Now let's keep fingers crossed that I get accepted.

And the career. A career. I am not sure if I have a career, but I do have a job. And it's a job I enjoy throughly most of the time. I have responsibilities, projects, challenges, all that. I respect and appreciate my newest boss and I like my teammates. I even get to work together with my best friend. I wonder what else could I want, expect the three things I can't get: a transfer to another team, a bigger salary and a big ass promotion.

And my life. I think it's getting sorted out for once. For the first time I am on medication. Antidepressants and anti-anxiety. It's time to tackle this son of a bitch depression. I've suffered way too long and way too much. I am also waiting to get into psychotherapy. I am too old to fees ashamed for being such a mental case. Sometimes I feel that my blog is mostly a history of my depression too. Occasionally here and there it shines trhough even though I've never really directly addressed that. Sometimes I wonder why it took me so long. And sometimes, still, I wonder I need that at all. I can't decide. Sometimes I am fine, sometimes I am not. But when I am not fine, it damages things and it bothers me too much to just ignore it.

Love. There is a line in one song I like that goes "your last love is the best love". I don't necessarily agree with that statement. I loved my ex-husband and I still do. I cherish all the years we spent together and even the bitter end. I have no regrets, nothing. I still speak very highly of him and I get angry whenever someone tries to say something mean about him. None of this was his fault, he always tried his best. And I am not saying it was my fault either. It's just the way things went and I am OK with that. I've moved on. And while I don't agree with the "your last love is the best love", I feel that I have found something that simply works better for me. My relationship with my boyfriend is not better or worse, it's just profoundly very different; different personalities, different dynamics. I love my boyfriend very deeply and very passionately and I feel confident he brings me joy and happiness for many, many years to come.

I used to own an apartment. I've taken a step back and now rent one, along with my boyfriend and roommates. It doesn't bother my slightly. I feel my attitude towards owning things has moved to another direction. Material things mean very little to me, only care about the very obligatory things. I need clothes on my body, but I don't care them too much. The same goes for everything, really. What I need to own, I own. But I've lost my interest of owning fancy things or things that fall more into the luxury department. In a way I'd be interested to become more minimalist, but at the same time I feel too lazy to go through my things and downsize. I don't mind having the things I have now even though I don't need them all. I feel that the things I get now are more imporant. I don't want to clutter my life with stuff. Stuff doesn't correlate with happines, that's what I have learned.

I've lost friends, both best friends and acquaintances, during this past ten years. They come and go. I am generally just really bad at keeping touch. I know that using things like Facebook might help, but I am still against Facebook. It doesn't interest me one bit. I have no interest of keeping up with friends who I am no longer really friends with. I don't care about their babies or their fancy jobs. It would probably just make me feel bad about myself. Or maybe it would be make me feel guilty of being the one who faded away. I am always able to make new friends and I feel that the friends that I have made during the last few years are better than the ones I have ever had. Occasinally I feel this flutter of nostalgia, thinking about people I used to know and care about, but what I have learned that reconnecting with others is not as easy as it might sound. People  change, me included. It's better to keep things in the past and just have the nice memories of things that used to be.

Now I realize this post is turning to a megapost. It's not a bad thing. Actually this is the very thing that I wanted to do. I wanted to capture the current. What I am right now, how things are in my life in this very moment. So when I turn fourty, I can reread this and write a new one. I have no idea where my life leads me next. Maybe after another decade I live in another coutry, speak different language, have a completely different career and completely different social circles.  Who knows. I never expected to find myself here and yet here I am.