My 30th birthday came and went without much fanfare. I was secretly hoping for a kind of magic Wishing Dust scenario a la 13 Going on 30. I would open my eyes and see what a dreamy life I had as a successful career woman complete with Pat Benatar sleepovers. Instead I was met with my boring, quiet, and mostly wonderful life. 30 means my window for ingenue is closed now. It means I’m not “in my 20s” anymore, whatever that meant. It means I am Danny Tanner’s age from the pilot of Full House. It means I am often wondering what age Anne Welles was in Valley of the Dolls after she realizes she’s wearing makeup for reasons beyond her vocational obligations to Gillian Cosmetics.

It means other things too, exciting things. 30 meant homeowner when I was younger which I checked off this year. It means having a good start on my finances, clearing away my debt, and focusing on true financial independence. It means not being too set in my ways to try new things, but allowing me to linger on the things I treasure. It means I’m not afraid anymore to be a mother. If it happens.

I will always be the occasional neurotic, introspective, dreaming pragmatist, but I hope the coming years will see me happy and improving little by little.