Today I am 29.

Cait Moss
Cait Moss
Jul 23, 2017 · 5 min read

Today, I am 29. Exactly 365 days away from the Big 3–0.

I used to laugh at the women who became neurotic at the approach of that birthday — the ones who bemoaned crows’ feet and grey hairs, who suddenly became frenetic at the thought of babies and weddings and oh-god-we-have-to-have-everything-figured-out-and-settled-down-RIGHT-NOW.

I’m still not one of those women. It still feels weird to refer to myself as “woman” and not “girl”. Aside from the lines on my forehead, I’m pretty cool with my wrinkles. I dye my hair because I get bored with the color, not because of the shiny white (yes, white, not silver) hairs that have taken over about a third of my head. I can’t wait to be 40. I’m not always happy with my body, but I am comfortable with it.

But I also get it. I get the sudden feeling of time’s onward march. I get the sudden realization that you’re not anywhere near where you thought you’d be at this point. I get the panic that claws up your throat as you look around and realize that most of your social group has spouses or long-time partners, and children, and mortgages and car notes, and are settled into a long-time career — and you’re still kind of…floating.

If you’re not careful, you can convince yourself that you’re a failure. Even if your singlehood, your rented apartment, and your bohemian lifestyle are all choices that you made and that you still love, you can still have moments where you feel like maybe, just maybe…it isn’t worth it.

Sure, your goals are larger-than-life, and your path is harder and longer, and all these choices are necessary to pursue your passion and achieve your dreams — but the human desire to conform and belong still has a strong pull. And does achieving your dreams really have to take this long and be this difficult? Do you really have to be so “behind the curve” in societal expectations? Can you really be this old and still have only gotten this far? And why does growing older have to come with even more expectations of who and where and how you should be?

Growing older beats the alternative, my mother is fond of saying. Most days, I agree.


To say that Year 29 did not start where or how I thought it would is an outrageous understatement. The past week of my life has been absolutely destructive, but that’s another article for another day.

I stand in the field of my life — a field currently blackened, completely razed to the ground, smoking and charred — and I quietly tell myself that ash often creates more fertile ground. Phoenixes can’t be reborn until they burst into flames.

In destruction, there is clarity. You realize what is important, and what’s worth salvaging, and what’s better left to smolder and collapse. You realize how lucky you are to survive, and how much life you have left, and how your perspective has shifted. This sensation is further compounded when you add another chapter into your book of life. You realize that you’re not getting any younger, and at some point, those choices you’ve made need to somehow be worth something. That fiancé you left, those children you decided to never have, that house you never bought, that 1800-mile move you made, that secure job with a secure salary you turned down because it took you further away from your dream — you don’t regret those choices, but you also need to feel like they were still the right ones.

You also have to admit that perhaps you’ll never truly know the answer to that one. Maybe these choices will never “pay off” in the way that you hoped, and maybe you’ll be left wondering if you took the right path after all — maybe you’ll be able to comfort yourself with the idea that you made the decision that you regret the least, and that’s still somehow a win, because it has to be.

Maybe you’ll learn to simply trust yourself — if you’re anything like me, it’s a gift that you don’t give yourself often enough. Trust that you’ve made the best possible decision for that time and from the options available. Trust that what is meant to be, will be, when it is meant to be, and how it is meant to be. (I should write fortune cookies, no?)

Understand that you’re never going to be exactly where you imagined, and nothing will ever happen exactly as you’ve planned — sometimes it will be worse, and sometimes it will be better, but it will never be exact.

Believe that someday, this pain will be useful. Yes, the Universe is random and chaotic, but even the bad parts have some kind of value. Whether it teaches you empathy, or sets you on a new path in life, or simply proves your own ability to adapt and overcome or at least survive, these things must have something that makes them worthwhile. Their value may not always be understandable, or even immediately apparent, but be patient. Be patient and keep on.

These are the words I repeat to myself, over and over again, as I step onto the first page of Chapter 29.


My best friend — affectionately dubbed my biffle (Best Friend For Life=BFFL=biffle) — called me at exactly midnight on my birthday. She wished me many happy returns, and then added, “So, take a moment to look back on this last year. How would you describe it? What do you want to take with you into the next year, and what do you want to leave behind? How do you feel, going into this new year, and how has that changed from your outlook last year?”

She’s pretty damn deep, my biffle. You can see why I keep her around.

If I had to describe Year 28, the word would be “anxious”, or perhaps “uncertain”. My biffle reminded me that, last year, I had told her that I felt the Universe was navigating me towards a place of change and upheaval, but that I had no idea exactly how or why. And for the next 12 months after that, I went through a lot. I won’t bore you with the details, but it turned out to be one of the most emotionally, mentally, and financially tumultuous times of my life.

But I survived.

I may be standing in a field on fire…but I’m still standing.

Cait Moss

Written by

Cait Moss

I am incapable of doing anything is half-measures. Oddly, this is half-blessing, half-curse.

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