2019 ushers in a new decade for me; one that screams middle-aged. But that’s fine, I’ve learned to deal with it as gracefully as I possibly can. So, let’s talk about 2018, while it’s still around.
It has been quite a fitting year to spend the last vestiges of my disappearing thirties. I doubled on my efforts to tick off my life’s bucket list. Instead of one long haul holiday this year, I took two. I also changed jobs within Bloomsbury publishing, settling down with permanence in editorial. I also learned how to knit a scarf (I made two).
It was a year of disappointment too. I stopped reading like I used to. Instead I wasted time on Netflix. I stopped blogging avidly, instead tweeting posts of no value. Every time I reminded myself to read or write, I reacted like a stubborn child.
It was also a year of losing my last grandparent. It was a year of seeing my relatives becoming orphans. While it gave me a chance to reconnect with my relatives after 17 odd years, I learned that you can’t force relationships and it has to happen naturally. Though I feel I have changed for better, I still haven’t let go of the need to put other peoples’ happiness before me. I carry a sizeable amount of guilt when I think of being selfish. But that’s something I think I can deal with in my wise forties.
I took a chance today to look back at my thirties and see myself through my blogs and pictures taken over the years. Aside from seeing the obvious visible ageing process, I saw myself taking opportunities, from volunteering with the TEDx communities to taking solo adventures. I also went blonde and learned that blondes do have the most fun. This was a decade of chasing dreams and for them to finally coming true. It took me years to finally end up in book publishing. After years of dreaming about it, I visited Tokyo. It was also the decade where I finally passed my driving test (having failed twice in my twenties).