Pray For My Knees, Please

Every time my birthday rolls around in January, I write this column reflecting on my life and all the choices that have led me to
where I am. This year feels a little different, though, because I am not just turning any random number – I will be 30.

I cannot believe I have made it this far, truly, and I am grateful for the life I have been given. When I was a teenager, this
milestone seemed so impossibly far away, but now I’m here, and I’m supposed to be one of the adults. My back doesn’t hurt yet, but I’ve started yawning inexplicably at 21h00.

It’s official: I am getting old.

Thirty is an interesting age. It’s young enough to be called “young lady” by someone in their sixties, but old enough to have
a knee that pops when you stand up (it hasn’t happened yet but I’m anticipating it).

I find myself caught between the youthful optimism that has kept me going and the creeping realisation that I need to start
investing way more in the future. My younger self would be horrified at how excited I now get about feeling vegetables in the grocery store, but she would also be proud of how far I’ve come, with relatively stable mental health.
In my twenties, I could stay up all night and still function the next day. Now, I need at least seven hours of sleep, a strong
cup of black coffee and a pep talk in the mirror just to leave the house. My metabolism has also decided to take a little
sabbatical, which means I can no longer eat an entire bucket of fried chicken without consequences.

Yet, even as I joke about aging, I feel a deep sense of pride in reaching this point.

I’ve survived heartbreaks, disappointments and several existential crises. I’ve loved fiercely, failed spectacularly, and tried
again anyway.

My twenties were messy, unpredictable and full of lessons that I wouldn’t trade for anything. They were the years I figured
out who I was and who I wanted to become, and now, at 30, I’m ready to embrace the next chapter with grace, humour and
a decent pair of orthopedic shoes (just kidding … for now).

But here’s the thing I’ve realised about turning 30: it’s not the end of youth as the world might have me believe.

If anything, it’s a new kind of beginning. I may not be the same wide-eyed, impulsive person I was at 21, but I’ve found a
steadiness in myself that I didn’t know was possible back then. And while my priorities have shifted and I care more about
financial stability and quality sleep than being in the club, I haven’t lost my love for adventure, creativity and just a little bit of
chaos.

For example, I still get excited about trying new things, even if I’m more discerning about what those things are. A night out
dancing? Sure, as long as I’m home by midnight. A spontaneous camping trip in the forest? Definitely, but only if we are
sleeping on proper mattresses.

But it’s not all a compromise. Ageing has its perks.

In my twenties, I wasted so much time agonising over whether I was cool enough, pretty enough or successful enough.

Now, I’m just trying to be kind – to myself and others – and to live a life that feels authentic to me.

I’ve also discovered the power of saying no to toxic relationships, to unrealistic expectations, and, most importantly, to last-
minute or ill thought out invitations.

Turning 30 has made me reflect on the people in my life. I’ve learned that quality always beats quantity when it comes to
friendships.

I’m grateful for the ones who’ve stuck around through all the highs and lows, and for the new connections that remind me
it’s never too late to meet kindred spirits. These relationships are my lifeline, my grounding force and my daily reminder that I am not navigating this life alone.

Of course, I’m not naive. I know getting older comes with its own set of challenges.

There will be more wrinkles, more grey hairs and more moments where I forget why I walked into a room (as if my memory
wasn’t bad enough already).

But I also know that every wrinkle will tell a story, every grey hair will be a badge of wisdom and every forgotten errand is
an opportunity to laugh at myself. Ageing is inevitable, but how I age is up to me.

I choose to do it with humour, grace and maybe a little bit of wine.
So here’s to 30. Here’s to a new decade of growth, discovery and probably a lot of naps. I may not have all the answers,
but I have a feeling the best is yet to come.

After all, age is just a number, and youth is a state of mind. My knees may give in soon, but my spirit is still doing
cartwheels. And really, that’s all that matters.

– Anne Hambuda is a writer, social commentator and poet. Follow her online or email her at

annehambuda@gmail.com for more.