It’s kind of a bummer when you reach the end of a decade, and don’t feel like you’ve accomplished much. It’s a bit worse when you realize you’ve passed up all the ages of your favorite literary characters and then some.

I turn 30 this week.

It’s a different feeling than when I turned 20. I feel older. I feel wiser. I feel like the skin on my eyelids is looser!

Being 29 was… good and bad.

The bad stuff included depression and rejection.

The good stuff included The Hobbit, a brand new sexy pixie haircut, going down to a size four pants, and trying out dating for awhile.

It’s tempting to be melancholy this week. It’s the end of an era, a decade, my twenties. I can either see what lies ahead of me as lined with anti-wrinkle cream, or I can decide that my thirties are going to be the best decade of my life.

The other day, a motivational speaker said something that resonated with me: there’s no such thing as victims, just volunteers. People treat us how we let them treat us. We see our circumstances the way we want to see them.

So yes, I’m getting older. I’ll have crow’s feet by my eyes sooner rather than later. But it’s not the end of the world. My life will change at 30. I’ll publish some e-books. I’ll write awesome posts! I’ll discover new obsessions, read new books, and find new movies I can’t live without.

I’ll figure out how to do things just for me, and not for the approval of others. I’ll choose to have that meaningless, purposeless thing known as fun. I’ll decide to do things not because they’re logical, but because I want to do them. I may even change my personality a bit.

So bring on 30! I won’t go down without a fight!