Guys, I’m going to be brutally honest with this one. I’m positively wrecked about turning 30. This week, I’ve cried twice in public (only one was an ugly cry, though, so let’s call that a win). And I’ve cried every day in private. Last night, I cried myself to sleep. This morning, I woke up to a text from Tony that said "My heart beats for you" with a link to an article about women who didn't find success until after 30, and it made me cry all over again. I love birthdays and normally believe in birthday months, but I am a mess over this one. I think it’s mostly because I’m a perfectionist, and I’m entering a new decade with so much of my life completely and entirely not figured out. I am so far from where I wanted to be when I turned 30, as far as success, accomplishments and looking at my life “on paper” goes. And I feel like I’ve really got to get my sh*t together on the inside, too. I always looked at 30-year-olds as “grown-ups,” people who have it together and are in the midst of their lives finally taking off. They’re hitting their strides in their careers, starting families, doing yoga and eating organic things that don’t cause cancer or heart disease (whereas, I'm pretty sure most of the things I like to eat will eventually kill me. And if all the frosting and tacos and macaroni & cheese and cacio e pepe and burgers and fries don't, the amount of hairspray and spray-on SPF 70 I use on the daily will.) I thought when I turned 30, I’d either be a successful screenwriter, funny “second banana” to the less-funny, hot girl lead on a sitcom, or maybe a mom who dons size 2 lululemon to jog her kids to school in a Bugaboo...View Article
