So I had a birthday this week – my thirtieth. I know there will be people out there who will roll their eyes a the idea that thirty is old, but it really feels like it should be something, should signify something.

I keep finding myself worrying about the fact that I don’t feel like I have things under control. I don’t feel like I am where I thought I would be by now – I have partner, no kids, no job and, really, no idea what I’m going to do with my life. Not only do I have none of those boxes ticked, but I don’t even feel like I’m close. I know the whole ‘people have it all figured out’ thing is a total myth, but even so, I feel a bit untethered.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes me who I am. I’ve also been thinking about making some changes. Maybe after thirty years in Melbourne I need to look at going outside to get to the next level. I’ve been considering spending a year abroad, which I know many people do in their early twenties, but I never did it. As of the middle of next year, my university course will be finished (assuming I don’t fail anything, which I should be able to manage), and I’ll need to start thinking about grown up things like having a proper job, or at least something that will support me while I continue with my writing and other stuff.

Most of my friends are older than I am and they assure me that the dirty thirties are where it’s at. I hope they’re right. I’m sure there’s a great plan that the universe has for me, or maybe it’s one of those when all the pieces fit together it will make sense kind of things. And maybe it’s just how the world is, confusing and so mind-bogglingly full of possibilities that there feels like there’s no discernible pattern.

All I can do is keep trying things, keep being true to who I am and trying to grow in myself. It’ll all work out, right?