I have thirty days left of being thirty. How did this even happen?

I’m definitely one of those people who thought things about thirty, about what it would mean to be thirty, and what my life would look like when I finally turned thirty. And while, over the years, expectations surrounding this monumental birthday shifted, never did I imagine that I would spend my thirtieth year struggling to reclaim myself.

Needless to say, thirty came without as much jubilation as I had anticipated and, quite frankly, I can’t quite bear to see it go out the same way. Because what thirty did come with was a certain kind of renewal, a surprising excavation of previously undiscovered potential combined with the release of a lot of negative energy. This year, I have loved and been loved more deeply than ever before, and I appreciate my life a lot more than I used to. I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like to be an adult.

Which is not to say that I’m grown up. I’m not. But I’m getting there.

Here’s a little secret. This very blog began, with humble tumblr roots, as a daily writing experiment. I wanted to see if I could write and publish something every day for thirty days, and I did. It was the first time I had ever done that, and it was the beginning of one of my most prolific periods. And one of the happiest.

In honor of this year, this strange and beautiful year, I have decided to dedicate the next thirty days to the very same goal. Writing and wellness have always gone hand in hand for me, so it seems a rather full circle sort of way to acknowledge it all – the fact that, eleven months ago, I was as depressed as I’d ever been and now here I am, ready to write. On a daily basis! Oh, I have waited a long time to get to this place.

Thirty years, to be exact.