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Yolo- ing Toward 30.

About a month ago, my last real birthday occurred.

It was great. I went out with friends one night. I had a wonderful time jamming out to my favorite Swedish folk band in Philly feeling young and fun with my sister. My mom made me a fantastic cake that was round and looked like the world. #whatagem And I got a new Keurig. Life was great.

credit: Youtube

But I must admit, when the clock struck 12 , I suddenly went into an internal tailspin (for reference, read my other whine-y post here) realizing that this was my last "acceptable" birthday. By "acceptable", I mean that after this birthday, there is no cushion; no way to blame stupid mistakes on age. Not that I make stupid mistakes (FYI), but I always felt that in your 20s you could just smile, bat your eyes, and say,"I'm just a 20-something trying to live my best life", if things ever went awry.

At 30.... I feel like batting your eyes no longer works. You're a real, full-fledged adult, and nothing can help you.

Talk about dramatic.

But it's true. And it doesn't help that pop culture and Party City paint 30 as some end-of-the-road / over-the-hill kind of age.

It becomes a huuuuuuge birthday to overcome and usually makes the participant feel like an old pancake or something soggy.

[Cut to my year-before-my-thirds-life-crisis (worse than a quarter life crisis, better than a mid-life crisis)]

So, the other day my work friends and I were lightly pondering the idea of going on another trip next November to Europe over the course of 4 days. Again, it would involve an 11 pm flight overseas on Wednesday, only to return that Sunday at 9 pm, with work on Monday in addition to our annual "meetings week" beginning on Tuesday.

It took me less than .05 seconds to declare:

Yeah... if the plane tickets are less than $450, the answer is always going to be yes.

...whether I am a year from 30 or 30 years old, I am not a soggy pancake.

I am going to keep on keepin' on

and travel.

skål xx

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