I turn 35 in a few weeks, and honestly? I’m still figuring things out. That used to terrify me. Now, it kind of feels like freedom.

Somewhere along the way, we were sold this Pinterest-worthy version of what our 30s should look like: stable career, healthy relationship, thriving social life, a house with throw pillows that match, a 401(k), clear skin, inner peace, and maybe a dog that doesn’t bark during Zoom calls.

The reality? Most of us are just winging it. Quietly, awkwardly, beautifully winging it.

I thought by now I’d have “arrived.”

But life isn’t a destination, it’s a series of redirections, disappointments, breakthroughs, ordinary Mondays, and really expensive therapy sessions unpacking that recent relationship that nearly broke you (but thankfully, didn’t).

Every time I thought I had it “figured out,” life handed me a new question. A breakup. A move. A new desire. A hard lesson.

I’ve learned that growing up isn’t about checking boxes. It’s about throwing out the checklist entirely and building something real, even if it’s messy af.

I’ve watched friends change careers at 34. Start over in love at 38. Move back home at 32. Launch businesses at 37. Heal family wounds at 38.

It doesn’t mean we’re behind.

It means we’re human.

We don’t talk enough about how your 30s aren’t a finish line. They’re a second adolescence, but with better wine and worse hangovers.

So if you’re staring down 30 (or sitting in the middle of it) feeling like you missed some mythical memo on how to have your life together, you didn’t. There is no memo. There’s just you, trying, learning, unbecoming, becoming, and doing your best.

And honestly? That’s more than enough.