Turning 30: What I've Learned, What I Live By, and What I've Let Go

10 lessons, 10 life rules, and 10 myths about adulthood I no longer believe

"Sofia" (2014) by Laura Stevens, from the series "Another November"

The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise. (Alden Nowlan)

At the end of last year I turned 30. A curvy 3 snuggled with a stout 0 to create the iconic 30 that holds so much weight in our collective consciousness.¹ After the rebellious teenage years and the experimental twenties, thirties - we're told - are supposed to be a grounding decade. Somehow, they exist in a state of superposition, where on the one side you're working for the life you want, and on the other, you already have it. Because although your twenties are said to be about trial, error and exploration, there seems to be this unspoken assumption you should welcome that prefix change - from 2 to 3 - with an already settled life.

As I muse on what it means to enter this decade, I get nudged by an audacious thought: 30 should really be the new 20. Or 20 2.0. By this time, we've (hopefully) gotten to know ourselves good enough to have a better idea of what we want in life - ideal career, partner, city - than we did at 20. We also tend to possess that lightness of spirit which comes from having made peace with our flaws, insecurities and quirkiness. And, most importantly, our pre-frontal cortices are fully developed.²

Thirties have a possibility of being everything twenties only promised to be. From education, to social life, to personal growth. In my 20s, I pursued an English degree at university, and while it taught me how to engage with and critique ideas, it also paralyzed my creativity, leaving me paranoid about plagiarism or small inaccuracies. It made me rely on other's thoughts ("research") even when I was no longer writing academic essays. It took a me while (and perhaps I'm still in learning) to not assess my writing merely on the basis on a) being right and b) sounding smart. Unshackled from the constraints of academia, I'm now more playful in how I approach writing, I rely mostly on my own thoughts and observations - at the risk of being wrong - and I get to pursue the topics that interest me with the same depth (if not more) than I did while in school. When it comes to the people around me, while the late parties and wine glasses have petered out, they've been replaced by heartfelt conversations and the emotional support much needed when one learns how to adult.

Shortly after turning 29 I thought I'd compile a list over the upcoming year of 30 lessons I learned so that I could share it when I reach 30. I've seen other people sharing their lists and it seemed like a good opportunity to reflect on life. I soon realized coming up with 30 "lessons" isn't as easy as it looks, but I kept coming up with other kinds of observations. So today I'll share only 10 lessons, along with 10 life "rules" that I like to follow, and lastly - my favorite section - 10 myths I've outgrown. The last one is especially important, because as poet John O’Donohue said, "part of the characteristic or the quality of maturity or growth is to be able to free yourself from the prisons of your own making."

In total here are 30 ideas that I've picked up over the years, ones that continue to bloom in my mind. Take what resonates, forget the rest.

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Lessons

1) The gift of inconvenience

One of the self-help mantras of the 2010s was that discomfort leads to growth. Similarly, I think inconvenience leads to connection. When you're going out of your way or rearrange your life a bit so that you can be there for another person, that's how you foster community and friendship. Boundaries are good (and necessary), but bonding is better.

2) No one knows what they're doing (all of the time)

We're all swimming in the murky waters of uncertainty. If I had a dollar for every time I met someone who - from afar - looked like the most I-figured-everything-out person, and then I discovered all the ways in which they were lost, I could probably have enough money to put this message on a billboard. I don't know if it's social media or the constant pressure to build an unique "brand"³ that has us appear like we know what the fuck we're doing, but I'm constantly reminded how much we’re all just winging it. And if that's not quintessentially human, then I don't know what is.

3) The necessity of missing out

If every piece of data, every fact, every random event in this world was a drop of water, I don't think our oceans could contain all of it. (Don't fact check me on that.) I know people like to talk about the joy of missing out (JOMO) and while I like the concept, I'd take it a step further and call it the necessity of missing out (NOMO). While JOMO sounds like a nice-to-have, cute side effect of not watching the news for 48 hours, NOMO is an imperative. You must miss out. There's no other way to be sane.

Ever since realizing this, I stopped giving my attention to almost all cultural and political events that are simply noise. I don't know why Blake Lively was all over the internet a few months ago. I don't know the "beef" between Kendrick and Drake.⁴ I don't know all the executive orders Trump signed.⁵ I also believe that too much information about many insignificant things can lead to a numbness for the real important shit. And this leads nicely into my next point.

4) Attention is life

I know you know it. But I also know that you forget it sometimes. Because I do too. And then I have to remind myself. Attention is the fuel that sustains everything in our lives, so being discerning with how we use it is of utmost importance. I fear that, if you're like me, you probably read a lot of insightful stuff and can focus too much on the "fancy" ideas, forgetting the basics. But I think there's value in just being reminded - as a metaphorical shake of the shoulders - about the obvious things. What you pay attention to is what you life consists of.

5) Unlearning is how one (truly) grows

During our first two decades, growing up is like building a castle out of Lego pieces. We accumulate and accumulate - getting our knowledge blocks and placing them in their appropriate place, trying to assemble the pieces in a coherent structure. Parents, family, teachers, fictional characters - all contribute to our worldview-building. And if we're lucky, we'll end up with a pretty solid castle.

Absorbing information is the skill of a child; however, interrogating it is the mark of an adult.⁶ But unless we're taught to not simply accept, but question every piece of our knowledge-castle, we won't fully mature. We'll simply grow old.

Deconstructing the narratives I've grown up with - some explicitly passed on to me, others unwittingly absorbed - has been integral to me becoming an adult. Applying a dose of skepticism and curiosity to the religious beliefs, cultural norms, and folk wisdom I aquired over the years has made me a more thorough think.

6) The flatness of experience

I used to think my experiences could be mapped on a natural landscape, with peaks and valleys, representing the highs and lows of my life.

Looking back on all the unique experiences I've had, ones that would probably seem special to someone else, I realize how mundane they are. Those peaks turned out to be mere bumps on the plane of life. I've dined in Michelin-starred restaurants. I've visited some beautiful cities, like London and Prague. I've bought some fancy stuff.

Now, some people might object (and I was one of them), that those things aren't really that extraordinary. Surely, some experiences would knock my socks off. Like dining with the royal family at Buckingham Palace. Or spending a week at a private resort, on a tropical island whose sands have been graced only by the feet of the Kardashians. But mulling on this for quite a while, I came to the conclusion that actually no, I would feel like I do every other day, in any other place.⁷ And while this might seem depressing to some, I feel incredibly content. Because I realize there's no amount of things I can gobble up (be them places, food, even books) that will produce a disproportionate spike in my happiness.⁸

7) Know when you need change or acceptance

I wish that before delving into self-help territory and trying to completely "reinvent" myself, I had realized that first it's necessary to make a distinction between traits and behaviors that can be changed versus the ones that would be the metaphorical equivalent of trying to change my eye color. I think a lot of pain and dissatisfaction comes from trying to change the unchangeable, to strongarm your nature into complying with what you're told you should be, which coincidentally, always aligns and perpetuates the dominant culture one lives in. A morning person. Someone who finishes what they start. A practitioner of a specific kind of discipline. I noticed that the more I resisted parts of myself that simply weren't going anywhere, the more inadequate I felt. The more those parts rebelled. For example, I learned the hard way that doing things in a linear fashion - from start to finish without detours or pauses - was like forcing myself to be right-handed, which I'm not.

8) Balance is a breeding ground for mediocrity

Although balance is alluring, chasing it can lead to a toothless life, a safe and predictable existence that doesn't deviate from the calculated rhythm of a metronome. Not only is it unrealistic, but when taken too far, balance in one's life translates to lack of depth. A smooth terrain where nothing catches the eye. Aiming for balance works under the assumption that everything deserves equal consideration, but I've come to think it's just a cop out from taking risks.

9) It's complicated, but not really

My overthinking sometimes likes to duet with my imposter syndrome in a bizarre dance. And as I see them pirouette, I get increasingly anxious and nihilistic. All the world's problems seem increasingly unsolvable, like a Rubik's cube from hell. I get overwhelmed by all the uncertainty, the unfairness, the insanity of it all. When that happens, I begin to question all the convictions I have about how society can be organized, how workplaces can be run, how public goods can be extended to more people. I seem to question or even forget the principles that I hold, like honesty, equity, kindness, community.

It almost feels scary to admit that actually yes, we know how people's lives could be improved; and it's not the things we're currently doing. And as long as economic arguments will eclipse ethical ones, we'll change nothing.⁹

10) It should feel natural (and that's not the same as easy)

I noticed there are two types of difficult activities. There are those that drain you (mentally and emotionally, or even physically) because they go against your authentic self. And then there are ventures that, regardless of being difficult, pump the sap of life into your veins.

Reaching out to someone you admire and expressing gratitude or even asking for help is not easy. But if you really look up to that person, it feels natural. Whenever I sent these kinds of messages, I never had to think about how me doing so will help with networking, or - God forbid - use an email template for how the message should be structured.

When I re-started drawing, it wasn't because I Googled "hobby ideas list" and chose something randomly, but because drawing was my favorite pastime as a kid. Shapes and shades were my friends long before words. So it made sense to return to it, even though the process itself is not easy. Deepening my relationship with my boyfriend and working out some of our issues was definitely challenging, but it came from a place of love, so it didn't feel contrived.

So don't resist the difficult. Resist the manufactured.

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Life “Rules”

1) Don't postpone life while you're waiting

Waiting for what? Anything. For a message, for a lover, for approval. Last year, in a period when I was a bit concerned about my health, I had two choices: 1) put everything on hold until I get the lab results that confirm I'm healthy, or 2) continue my normal routine, and take it from there if I get a bleak diagnosis. Fortunately, everything turned out to be fine. And I was happy I chose option two and didn't use that "limbo" time as an excuse to put my whole life on pause.

2) Be the things you love most about the people who ispire you

I see this as a way of carrying forward the spirit of those who inspired me, like plucking a gene out of their DNA and inserting it into mine.

For example, I like to remind myself of Joan Didion's philosophy towards writing and her relentless practice of capturing snippets of her life to uncover overlooked but significant moments. Or when I feel rigid and lacking inspiration, I try to channel Paul Klee's playfulness. His approach to art, masterfully combining rigor with experimentation, prompts me to loosen the self-imposed rules and limitations around creative work. I also practice leaning into discomfort and resistance, rather than turn away from it, as Pema Chödrön invited us in her teachings.

By trying to channel the habits and practices of the people I admire, I feel like I'm carrying their creative genealogy forward, allowing their essence to live on.

3) The cringe test

If a Gen Zer would label what I'm doing at least a bit Cringe, then it means I'm still growing. I've noticed there are at least two types of "cringe." There's the obnoxious kind, the one that makes me want to erase my memory so I forever forget what I experienced, and then there's the endearing kind, which radiates from anyone who does something new, in the typical clumsy and innocent way of a beginner. It's that second kind that I try to not shy away from, especially as I get older.

4) Don't assume something is fixed forever

I'm wary of people that sell an "ultimate" solution. If someone says "do X and you'll never struggle with Y again," my bullshit detector starts beeping immediately. I always expect that starting again will be necessary, because at some point life happens: sickness, chaos, heartbreak. And what once seemed settled - my workout schedule, my writing routine, my sleep - gets disturbed by the tumult of the world, and I'll need to find my footing again.

5) No hesitation

I've noticed that there are little moments in life that require we seize them right away, or they may fizzle out. That's when I try to remind myself of this idea. It's an attitude for anything good, fun, desirable, and immediately accessible. It can apply to things like paying someone a compliment the moment I get the impulse, flipping a pancake, or using a weird metaphor in an article.

I first started to train this mindset in my Yoga practice, where I'd remind myself of this mantra before entering any challenging pose. But I started to see how it could improve my life outside the mat too. It definitely injects a dose of joyous spontaneity into little moments.

6) Think about death at least once a day

A simple reminder that I'm going to die, peppered randomly through my day, is the best "life hack" I know. That little thought is akin to having a dislocated shoulder put back in its correct position. At first, there's pain. But then, a bittersweet relief. A kind of relief that only comes from the duality of the realization: I'm going to die, but right now I'm still here. I should do something worth doing.

7) Play with emptiness

Whenever I find myself overwhelmed by the waves of life, I remind myself to play with emptiness.¹⁰ This is a practice that helps to unclench my tight grip from any strong emotions or perceptions in the moment. It exists at the intersection of two longstanding interests of mine, namely meditation and ways of seeing (or ways of looking at the world.)

I try to observe a difficult situation through the Buddhist concept of emptiness (śūnyatā), which means that nothing has inherent existence, instead things depend on external conditions to arise. The more we see things - be they objects, emotions, relationships, even our selves - as immutable entities, the more we suffer. So how we look at a situation can either alleviate or intensify our suffering. By examining the ways I frame an experience and understanding how each individual element contributes to my emotional state, I can let go of some of its weight.

8) Action first

Inspiration comes after starting. So do excitement and motivation. Just like Nietzsche advised us not to trust any thought that didn't come from walking, I promised myself I wouldn't jump to any conclusions while I'm idle. That's when most of the self-doubt creeps in: I don't have any good ideas to write about or I'm not ready to do X. And those ideas turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because by not starting, they actually are true. I don't yet have any good ideas - but many do come after writing for a few minutes. I'm not ready yet to do something, but readiness is achieved by doing. And when I actually start - when I'm deep in the process - all the second guessing melts away and I'm only concerned with how to move on to the next step, however imperfectly.

9) The Main Thing

The main thing is... to keep the main thing... the main thing. Of course, before one can do that one must choose what the main thing is. But after that's done it's a pretty straightforward process. For me, the main thing is writing. I learned, however, that keeping writing as the main thing doesn't always involve the activity per se. All the other things that support and fuel my writing count as "the main thing" too: having new experiences, or the same experience for the 100th time, thinking, observing, sitting alone.

10) Go through the back door

I apply this strategy to two efforts: creating and learning.

When trying to create something, it can be difficult at first to silence our inner critic, to trust and take the foot off the brake, to just let the motions (whether it be painting, typing or dancing) take a life of their own. So when I need to work on an article, if I feel resistance - which I almost always do - I'll try to get in through the back door. I'll start with something else, writing-related: freewriting, journaling or composing a poem. Eventually, I'll either get a new idea or perspective I want to include in the article I was avoiding, or I'll have proved to myself (for the 1000th time) that I can turn thoughts into sentences.

One of the best tips I came across about personal style is that if you want to develop an authentic point of view, you should learn about everything, except fashion. That got me thinking about how this stands true about learning other subjects as well. It's a way of going through the back door. Or if you want a different metaphor, it's like opening every door, except one. For example, when I wanted to learn about colonialism, I picked up books that dealt with only a facet of this complicated part of history. In my case I looked at it through the lens of art, literature and food, respectively.

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Myths I’ve outgrown

1) The older someone is, the wiser they are

"It is not the old that are wise,/ nor the aged that understand what is right." - Job 32:9

Adding years to one's life doesn't necessarily translate into wisdom. Just as we don't judge the stability of a building by the number of its stories, it doesn't make sense to assume that simply because someone is above a certain age, they must be a fountain of valuable insights.

The only reasonable thing one can infer about a person in their 60s compared to one in their 20s is that the former has experienced more of life - both the softness of happiness and the knifelike quality of despair. How one processes and integrates those experiences, however, makes the difference between what I like to call "a mature child" and a legitimate adult.

As I've gotten older and dared to look at adults in more critical ways, not just as mythical creatures that have everything figured out, I've noticed they have the same shortcomings as kids or young adults - only a bit more sophisticated.

2) Life ends at 30

I don't mean that I thought I'd die before that age, but that the journey of self-exploration - the searching for meaning, fulfillment and purpose - would come to an end. Asking existential questions, having doubts, reconsidering life choices, daring to start a new chapter - all of these, I assumed, would be left in the past, in the rocky mountains of my 20s.

3) Every question needs an answer

As an avid learner and naturally curious person, I tend to want all the answers. Now. I'm a bottomless well, ready to absorb all the facts about anything remotely interesting to me. But that often overlooks the fact that some questions are more subtle and ambiguous, so a straightforward answer can't do them justice. What is my purpose? Who am I? What am I searching for? I’m learning to be content with simply posing the question, and then letting myself live out the answer, instead of demanding a precise one.

4) You need to "master" yourself

My happiness and self-esteem improved dramatically when I stopped viewing myself as a puppet to be orchestrated, and more like a person to be understood. The concept of "self-mastery" has something impersonal to it: it quietly assumes you're split in two. One side is on a higher plane of existence, knowing what's best to do, and it just bosses the other, "lowly" side into submission.

So rather than that, I think it's more beneficial to befriend yourself.

5) You can do anything

This is tied to Lesson 7 from above, the one about changing or accepting one's nature. Leaving aside the practical considerations of why "you can do anything" can't work, it also overlooks our innate strengths and weaknesses. I know I couldn't work in a professional kitchen, because a fast-paced environment like that would exhaust me right away.

Realizing you can’t do anything is liberating. It saves time, it saves mental energy, and it ultimately saves our confidence, because we won’t force ourselves in positions where we're doomed to fail.

6) Consuming information is enough for catalyze change

Being knowledgeable about a subject doesn't translate into being able to integrate that knowledge into one's life, to embody its wisdom. This phenomenon is called "aboutism" and I see it prevalent in our culture. We know about a topic, but we lack the Phronesis (Greek for "practical wisdom") to distill it into a way of life, to deconstruct it into a set of principles or a cluster of practices. Most of the time that knowledge absorbed from books, courses, or podcasts remains an abstract entity we view from afar, rather than a malleable substance we can play with. Change is an active process that demands (literally or metaphorically) rolling up one's sleeves and getting the hands dirty.

7) You don't owe anything to anybody

No doubt a by-product of our atomized culture, this idea sprung like a meaty mushroom on the bark of a tree. It kind of looks like it belongs, but there's something not quite right about it. What makes this idea tricky is that, like most popular wisdoms, I think it's right in some cases. If, for example, your family insists you should pursue a certain career path, but you can't see yourself fit for it, then you don't owe them going down that road. The same is true with having children or living a life that others approve of (granted you're not hurting anyone). But then these common sense applications reverberate to other relationships and interactions, and before you know it, any sign of compromise is seen as weakness. Any sacrifice is a infringement on your boundaries. I also find it especially curious that this mantra can co-exist with the also-popular idea of "taking responsibility." True responsibility encompasses accountability and extending moral considerations to those around us.

So you and I sure own people many things. Like compassion, honesty, trust, grace, to name just a few.

8) You should be "normal"

First of all, normal according to whom? Normality is relative to time, place, and situation. What's deemed normal for a a funeral would be out of place at a bachelorette party. What was normal for rural France in the 1700s is no longer relevant today. But even beyond that, normal is simply an aggregate of what the majority of people find acceptable at a moment in time (and place). And while it's not entirely arbitrary, it lacks nuance.

One of my favorite quotes, which I bring to mind more and more lately, is from spiritual teacher Krishnamurti who says that "it is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society." Or in other words, if you're always doing the things that are expected of you, you may have been a victim of subtle societal bullying without even noticing.

9) You should never abandon your goals

We're so conditioned by our modern culture to keep working, to feed the machine, to "grind" our way to happiness, that we rarely consider appropriate to just stop and re-assess what we're doing, to what end, or for whom. Even harder, if things don't make sense anymore, to, God forbid, walk away.

Recently I came across a bucket list of 100 things I wanted to do before I die, written at least five years ago. Some of those still stand (like going on a meditation retreat or learning to play tennis), but I've noticed many of them were simply not speaking to me anymore (for example one was skydiving). Learning to differentiate between the goals that have withered - maybe because they were never truly ours to begin - and the ones that continue to fuel us can be an invaluable skill.

10) Contradictions or inconsistencies are a bug, not a feature

In actuality, we're all multifaceted people whose pieces don't add up to a perfect picture. I used to think my disparate interests were a symptom of lack of self-knowledge, but I realize now they're simply the idiosyncratic mosaic of my life. Studying the history of the Bible today, writing free verse poetry tomorrow, drawing a landscape the next day. These are not contradictions, but constellations of my interests. I gave myself permission to be more than one thing, to resist labels or boxes.

Thanks for reading.

Until next time,

Diana

1. At least it does in WEIRD societies.

2. And that brings with it a host of awesome things, such as being better at making good long-term decisions, resistance to peer pressure, enhanced emotional regulation, just to name a few.

3. Have you ever seen a brand that's scared, uncertain or questioning its purpose?

4. And that didn’t stop me from enjoying Not Like Us.

5. As a non-American, perhaps I can get away with this one, while American citizens may not have this luxury.

6. That's not to say that only adults can approach their beliefs with skepticism and critical thinking.

7. Perhaps slightly happier, but the happiness increase wouldn't track with the increase in "specialness"

8. I'm talking specifically about external experiences, so emotions like love, awe or gratitude aren't included.

9. This section was partially inherited from Jenny Odell's Saving Time, which I highly recommend.

10. If you're interested in this kind of practice I highly recommend the book Seeing That Frees.