Age is just a number, or so people tell you as your particular number begins to grow. As I find my 30th birthday fast approaching, now measured by days rather than years, I find myself a little bit excited. I know, every woman is bombarded with messages telling her to dread her thirties. We are taught, from a very young age, that 30 is when our ovaries shrivel up and die, when men stop caring about our existence (which apparently is the only thing women are supposed to care about), and if we aren’t already "successful" (by whose measure?) by the time we hit That Age, it becomes official that we probably never will be. At 30, there’s supposed to be nothing left to look forward to. Life is settled and there’s nothing to be done. And also, we get old and ugly. This is what we're told. So if turning 30 is supposed to be so terrible, why do I feel like I can’t wait to embrace it?
I’m not grossly naïve or expecting some previously unknown trust fund to kick in; I'm not expecting my life to change for the better in some dramatic way; There's nothing unusual about my life that I'm about to reveal which will illuminate my "unusual" happy anticipation for turning this age corner. Nope, my reasons for excitement are pretty standard things. To be perfectly frank, they are the reasons I think every woman should be looking forward to 30, or looking back with fondness if the day has already gone by. Because maybe, the best things in life are still in my future. And even if they're not, doesn't it just make sense to always kinda believe the best things are still ahead? Maybe, possibly, I hope, the road doesn’t end here. But here are some reasons I’m genuinely excited about turning 30: