February is my birthday month and in 2018, I faced turning the big (hushed tone) 3-0. “Dirty thirty” and “Thriving at thirty” were all captions I considered inserting in a picture next to myself looking triumphantly thirty. Whatever that means. Where had all the years gone? It’s like I’d been sucked into a tsunami of ploughing, figuring myself out and becoming my own person that when I came up for air, the youthful hope I’d once pursued my future with had receeded. I was in the future. Now what? As I mulled over these things, my husband suggested that we go to Los Angeles for my special day. Being a part time film maker and full time creative (characters, scenarios and dialogue bounce around my head all day), the thought of visiting all the studios and exploring Hollywood should have made me scream with giddy excitement. Instead, I found myself nit-picking all the things that could go wrong and why the timing wasn’t great. My pre-planning preferences cringed at the thought of taking a vacation at the drop of a hat. Hats should be kept on heads. Heads were more reasonable than shuffling feet.

As the wind of travelling blew, my husband threw caution to it and I flailed around, battling to keep up as flights were spontaneously booked, only just managing to secure accomodation. Only just. And off we went. Two African adventurers about to hit Rodeo Drive harder than Julia Robert’s punchline to the snobby sales representatives in ‘Pretty Woman‘.

Laborious layover and wee-hour pick up at LAX later, we settled into our new address in Orange County. My jet-lagged mind still couldn’t grasp that we ACTUALLY did it. Barely three days ago, I was stuck in the comfortable melancholy of what I knew and now, I was existing on the other side of my boundaries. Driving down the famous palm tree route in Beverly Hills, I arrived at a realisation. I had worried about everything else except living in the moment. Yes, the years had flown further than our international trip, but I was there for every single one. I had brought with me a bag of encounters and had to check-in at every new point of conviction. My character was not marred by my journey, those were stamps that showed my entry and relieved exit into places I often had to trek alone.

Turning 30 taught me to stop living from your head and start living from your heart. You’ve got to draw solid lines but colour outside the box. Those are some of the best memories you’ll ever create.

Blessings and love

Published by philemonpie

I am a wife, blogger, writer and creative who tried to have it all figured out. Then I realized the fun is in learning

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