Lately, I’ve been thinking about my upcoming birthday. My 20s are halfway over. In college, I never understood why people cried on their birthdays or worried about aging. Now, as I near 30, I feel it. I feel the fear of becoming boring, or even worse irrelevant.

I wonder what my life will look like then. Will I be married? Have a career that feels established? Published a book? Traveled enough to feel “cultured”? When I imagined my 30s, they seemed impossibly far away. Now, they feel like they’re staring me back, and I realize: I’m in a good place, yet I still feel behind.

And yet, for some reason, I feel behind. I’m single. I didn’t spend two weeks in Europe this summer. I know visiting a friend in a new state every weekend or going out four nights a week isn’t realistic. I probably don’t need to keep fantasizing about a loft in the city or a closet room. All of these things are just dreams I’ve normalized from Instagram.

Still, I keep finding myself searching flights, wondering if I can spare $500, thinking about how I could be cooler, more interesting, more exciting. I’ve never felt like I deserved anything I want so immediately as I do right now. I don’t even have a semblance of a budget. I’ve really become a party girl, and I love it. I love waking up every day and doing whatever crosses my mind. I love the freedom of splurging, of going wherever a TikTok or Ticketmaster tells me.

And yet, I love the life I do have. I love waking up with no plan and following wherever the day takes me. Spontaneous trips, random concerts, nights out that last until sunrise. These things make me feel alive. I’ve become a party girl, and I love it.