My age is actually an important number

I think it is too important for too many of us to be important. If I require your time and energy, if I, whoever I am, require you to see me through digital or analogue eyes, I should be important. When everyone else is hiding behind images, posts, re posts and quotes, those who write, they should have something to say. But as the years roll by and I live alone in company all over the world, I feel less and less important. I feel my opinion matters less and less, my wish to change, move or affect you fades. I know this is how we grow up, this is what grown ups are like. They forget to care and to agitate, to promote what they believe in, to believe all together. Perspectives get more and more narrow, and the importance is not that important any more. Am I being blessed with finally leaving the attention seeking behind or am I loosing the part where I care and dream and hope and rejoice and cry and despair? I sleep at night. I don’t need to worry, I am not angry and I don’t have any sadness any more. I don’t get stressed and I don’t freak out. I don’t really, really think things are that important, in general. I don’t really have that much to prove to anyone at this point.

That’s where you find yourself past 30. It’s a radical change I didn’t even experience until I was in it. On Sunday morning I woke up, not being hung over. Simply cause of the fact that I didn’t drink any alcohol on the night before – not an odd thing, happens several times a week these days. But the relief, the pure feeling of relief energized me the whole day, ever so thankful that I more and more often listen to reason these days. I’m not all in, all the time and I’m starting to like it more and more. Things change past 30, and though people constantly tell me that “You don’t look that old!” or “Oh, STOP talking about your age!” it’s really something I’m ever so grateful for. My life is getting better and better for every year, and I am happy to grow older and if not more intelligent then at least I do grow smarter. And no – growing up doesn’t mean you loose your curiosity, your drive or your passion. It actually means that you start to be able to focus on your drive and your passion. To stay sober on a Saturday to be fit enough the day after for a run, fixing the bike and take some interest in a job which surprisingly is the path that will take me around the world – again. The path I am actually already on. It means I have the knowledge, experience and courage to trust strangers, to follow through on adventures and to keep my shit together in times of crisis. And I look at my friends. My friends with kids, with husbands, with high pressure career jobs, mortgages, loans, houses, responsibilities. We all have our different reasons for keeping our shit together, but the older you get, the less of an effort it is. Closing in on 30 I was happy too. But today I don’t cry half as much as I used to, I don’t have regrets, I don’t raise my voice, I don’t get scared and I don’t run away as I used to. The same things I could panic about a year or two ago doesn’t even move me now.

The owners of the house I live in sold it without telling me and I’m gonna need to move out come spring. Next week I’ll start travelling again – I got a ticket and VISA for Iran. I’m as calm as ever. A nomad is supposed to be on the road. Moving is the natural state of mind. Walking is a natural posture for the body. And those two must go together.

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