Turning thirty is a big deal, right?
Or so everyone keeps telling me!
The good.
I must admit, currently, I'm not daunted by it.
I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm looking forward to it, but who does look forward to a birthday these days?
In many ways it wont make the blindest bit if difference, but symbolically? I'm ready for it.
But that's not to say I've always felt quite so unperturbed by the thought of entering another decade of my life.
The bad.
A couple of years ago I had that moment. That overwhelming awareness of responsibilities, commitments and life rolling by with the blink of an eye. You know, when you realize that you're approaching a milestone birthday and life is getting serious - work, mortgages, relationships. And yes, I had a little freak out!
For me, it was the feeling of responsibility. Getting older and not having that complete sense of freedom to do whatever the hell you like, that you get so used to being young adult.
I remember being at university and just completely revelling in the autonomy that living away from home for the first time brings; spontaneity, unrestraint, freedom. Remember how that felt?!
I guess the thought of growing older - particularly the thought of buying a house - really threw me. You know; age = maturity = responsibility = limitations.
And I didn't expect to feel like that, at all. I crave routine; making plans, organising. The mind is a funny thing, hey?
So I did what came naturally; convinced my boyfriend it was our moment, and we booked the trip of a lifetime. A six month jaunt around SE Asia. He quit his job, I got a sabbatical. Our house deposit fund became our backpacking fund. Responsibility woes = crushed!
You can read more on our trip in the travel section, just follow the link at the top of this page.
In many ways, this has saved me from the impending dread of turning thirty. I feel satisfied; at least more than I did 18 months ago. I feel ready to settle and nest, craving that contented, settled life.
The ugly.
The bad news? Well, I am undoubtedly going gray.
I remember starting my teacher training back in 2010 and dying my hair dark brown - within weeks I started to spot the odd pesky gray and quickly made the decision that returning to a fairer barnet was preferable. Who knows, maybe I'd been greying for years but just didn't spot it thanks to my pal, peroxide.
Fast forward seven years and I am without a doubt turning a not-so-subtle shade of silver.
A two-inch-thick streak above my right ear. And it's no longer just a case of the odd, wiry strand, but a full head of hair interspersed with gray strands.
The solution? After having a chat with my hairdresser (James at Farnham Headmasters, FYI - he is a literal hair wizard) we decided covering said greys was a bad idea. I don't have the time, money or inclination to maintain something like that! So we've continued to go down the balayage route, but toning the blonde down to a slightly cooler tone (read: more grey-like) and adding some blonde finely through the top sections too. A deception job.
Leaving the mid-section largely free of color means it doesn't look too 'done', but with a subtle tip of fresh blonde on the ends and the fine blondes through the roots mean the greys sit happily next door to the blonde. Clever, no?
If all fails, I could take the Sarah Harris route.
So, here goes. The final four months of my twenties. September, I'm ready for you!
