You can do it all.

Variants of this inspirational quote adorn throw pillows, Instagram graphics, and T-shirts. At first glance, the sentiment is admirable and even motivational. As a big dreamer, I think it’s healthy to remove mental blocks and limitations. I hope everyone can find the courage to strive for their wildest dreams. Nonetheless, I also think if we do a deep dive, this sentiment can be dangerous to your overall dreams and fulfillment.

I do believe you can do it all…but you shouldn’t.

The problem with this quote is that without us realizing, it seeps into our daily lives and poisons our fulfillment. What’s meant to inspire us to dream big actually chains us down to a life of monotony and lists. 

We think we should have a home worthy of a magazine AND be the best mother AND the kind of friend who does weekly brunches AND surprise our husbands with romantic date nights AND climb the social ladder AND master how to make perfect enchiladas everyone will love AND do glam makeup everyday AND have mastered silky, shiny hair AND have a hair free body every single day AND do an hour of pilates five times a week AND make sure all the appointments are made AND be spiritually enlightened.

AND AND AND.

We think we should do it all because we can.

The list is never-ending. We run through a rat race believing there is something wrong with us when we are crying in our imperfect bathroom that isn’t spa-like as we think about how tired we are–and how we are failing. We can do it all. It’s clearly us that’s the problem. We must be too stupid or too clumsy or too disorganized or too lazy. Our lives should look effortlessly perfect like we see on social media and from celebrities and from the moms at school pickup. We can do it all if we want to–and so we convince ourselves we want to. We tell ourselves we have to. We dig deep, wipe away the mascara staining our cheeks, and we throw ourselves at the merciless to-do lists once more.

The need to do it all is an inferno we cannot escape once we let it infiltrate our lives. On our relaxation days, we look around and see all the things that aren’t quite right, all the to-dos. Instead of soaking in the sunshine, we look at how the deck chairs need washed. When we’re spending quality time with the kids or the dog, we think about how we really should be taking those perfect photographs to get made into that scrapbook we’ll do someday. We shame ourselves for caving and eating fast food and running out of energy to do our insanely rigid workout schedule. We scorn as we look in the mirror because we didn’t use enough self-tanner and we missed a spot shaving and our eye shadow is lackluster.  We are hard on ourselves and see every missed item on our list as a failure.

We critique. We critique some more. We try to do more because we think that’s the problem.

And eventually, all of that “do anything” attitude becomes a life of monotony, a life missing passion, excitement, and happiness. We wake up in our lives that still don’t have everything mastered and feel inadequate, unfulfilled, and like failures, yet we keep trudging along on the hamster wheel that is quickly spinning of its axis.

Thus, the thing I think we need to talk about is this: yes, you might be strong, powerful, and smart enough to do it all. Still, that doesn’t mean you should.

Doing it all leaves you depleted. You have finite energy, and if you try to master everything at once, you just do a little bit of everything half-assed. 

More importantly, trying to do it all is a fool’s errand. No one, no one, no one does it all alone and well. 

No one has perfect, spotless baseboards and clean sinks while trying to work full-time.

No one has a perfect body while running the kids to seventeen activities, managing a stressful work schedule, and cooking dinner every night.

No one has magazine-worthy hair, makeup, and outfits while being a hands-on mother and making sure the appointments are all made.

No one has celebrity-worthy interior design, meals, bodies, makeup, outfits, bank accounts, careers, vacations, and lives like social media wants you to believe.

In the real world, most of us are hanging by a thread. We have dirt on the baseboards, we fed our families ham sandwiches while forgetting the dentist appointment and trying to get to work on time. 

We are cleaning up cat barf while trying to put on a swipe of mascara and blot away some of the grease in our hair as we wolf down a yogurt we hope is healthy.

We are trying to iron the pants for the school play while ignoring the layer of dust on all of the surfaces in the house and hoping the squats we did while brushing our teeth count as a workout.

We are hoping no one knocks on our door as a surprise visitor because it’s Thursday and we barely made it through the work week let alone picked up a single item strewn about the house.

We’re all hanging by a thread. We’re all trying to do everything–and realizing we’re not doing it well.

I think the problem is this, though. I think the problem is we all are keeping up the ruse that it’s possible to do it all. We’re all clinging to that “can do” attitude and smiling through as if we’re not all exhausted. We’re swiping the dust away and hiding the remnants of our life in shambles. We’re getting it together just enough to convince everyone around us that we’re doing it all effortlessly. We’re convincing ourselves and our friends that yes, of course we wash the sheets every few days and manicure the lawn and make sure the kids are eating only organic food. We pretend we’re not all dying inside trying to wear fifty hats instead of just the ones we want.

We convince ourselves that the world is going to fall apart if we prioritize and let some things go. We tell ourselves we’re being lazy when we want to relax instead of tackling the window washing or the tax spreadsheet or the list of phone calls.

We keep up the facade that we’re happy doing all the things because that’s what we’ve been taught. Still, the “can do” attitude is a thief of happiness if you let it be.

So I propose that this week, we all take a deep breath and ignore the gunk from the dog on our kitchen wall or the crayon mark on the table. I propose we resist the urge to wear a full cut-crease eye look every day or iron the slightly wrinkly shirt. I propose we don’t feel guilty if we feed our families bags of chips and peanut butter for dinner or if our hair has been in a bun for a week straight. I propose we all take a breath, take a moment, and ask ourselves:

What really matters most?
Even though I can do all the things, what do I want to do?
What will make me feel successful?

Certainly, we all have to do things we don’t want to do. But that doesn’t mean we have to strive for impossible standards in all areas of our life. There are seasons for everything. Seasons to work on our killer body, and seasons to cut back to maintenance mode where a walk or chores counts. Seasons for killing it at work and letting the spring cleaning slide. Seasons where we serve all homemade meals, and seasons where cereal is a food group.

We have to learn to be okay with not doing it all and instead, doing all the things that feed our soul, that make us feel alive, and that remind us of who we are. We also have to accept that life ebbs and flows, and that it’s okay if our vision of perfect in one area morphs in the next season of our lives. 

Furthermore, we need to remember that we can do it all–but we shouldn’t have to do it alone. We need to ask for help when we need it and find support systems. We need to be honest with our friends and co-workers and stop pretending this adult thing is easy. We need to stop showing up in the world as these extreme multi-taskers who are wearing a cracked smile over their dead–inside visage. 

We need to be brave enough as a society to say yes, we are kickass, powerful warriors who can do it all–but are smart enough not to. Who are intelligent enough to know that it isn’t sustainable to do all the things, isn’t fulfilling, and isn’t what this life is about. 

Thus, we need to change the quote in our minds to: we can do all the things that really matter most–and all the rest can wait.

​

Nervous jitters coursed through my body as we pulled up to the familiar building. All 140 pounds of our black Great Dane was wiggling, thrilled to see his dog school we’d been going to for months. This time, though, things were different. 

After several courses of obedience, I’d decided to enroll Edmund, our Great Dane, in a class we’d never taken before: agility. I knew the instructors and the building, but I knew nothing about what to expect. It was foreign territory, and I was terrified of how he might perform. Still, along with the nervousness was another feeling–excitement. There was something thrilling about doing something completely new, something out of our comfort zone. And although Edmund still has so much to learn, we both had a blast learning new skills.

It might seem crazy that my dog’s agility class had such an impact, but honestly, in the past year, that’s what I’ve learned about life–small changes can make a big difference. 

From taking a new class with my dog to learning to make candy, I’ve been branching out in small ways these past few months. I’ve read books in genres I usually don’t. I’ve listened to new podcasts and tried new makeup looks. I’ve bought new clothes and spent a lot of time on Pinterest seeing what appealed to me. I’ve tried to get back to the notion that used to be so familiar in my childhood–the idea of exploring, trying, and adventuring in any way I can.

Still, I hear so many friends and acquaintances talk about the state of monotony they find themselves drowning in. I completely understand because in my thirties and especially these last couple of years, I’ve felt the suffocating feeling of being stuck in a rut. Maybe you have, too.

Maybe you’ve experienced the sensation where every day blends into the next, and you feel like you’re stuck in a black-and-white movie. There is no passion, no spark, no joy, and certainly no element of surprise. It feels like your life is stuck on repeat, and you can’t find the remote control to pause it.  A hamster on a wheel, you keep running the race without a destination in mind. 

Growing up, people always told me how tough the “real world” was and how hard adult life would be. The thing is, I don’t think anyone really focused on the other difficult aspect of being an adult: monotony. 

I know, I know. Being bored is, in some ways, a blessing. It means your life is stable and safe enough that your mind can rest. You aren’t in survival mode, running on pure adrenaline. If you have the mental capacity to be bored, you probably are living a life that you should be grateful for.

Still, I’ve come to learn in my thirties that there’s more to life that being stable and safe. There’s something else we need that few of us focus on–which is why I think so many of us feel lost.

Passion.

Passion is the spark that lights us up from within. It’s the igniter for our soul, the element that keeps us going. It’s what keeps the days from blending into each other. It’s what keeps our world in vibrant color instead of dull gray scale. It’s what keeps life worth living.

So many of us, though, once we’re settled into our lives, find ourselves lacking just that. We get stuck in a rut in our careers, our relationships, our own personal development. We fall into routines and can’t find the energy to leave them. Our days become repetition cycles that keep us alive but don’t actually bring us to life.

It’s understandable, though, that we fall into these patterns. Routines can be comforting and also helpful. They keep our minds at ease. Furthermore, adult life is exhausting. Between housekeeping, paying bills, the stress of job, our social lives, taking care of family, and everything else we are pulled to do, who has the energy to mix things up or find excitement?

It’s easy to fall into a routine and a rut. It’s hard to get out.

Nonetheless, I’ve been thinking lately that we owe it to ourselves to try. We owe it ourselves to find ways to mix up our lives, spice up our routines, and challenge ourselves to find something new to excite us. 

I don’t think you have to go to extremes. You don’t have to sell your house tomorrow, buy a camper, and travel in a foreign country. You don’t have to quit your job and learn to live off the land next week or change your entire look and personality. Getting out of your rut can truly happen if you focus on the small things.

Take a new route to work.

Go on a walk somewhere you’ve never been.

Get your coffee from a new place.

Find a recipe for a food you’ve never tried on Pinterest and make it.

Take a class, free or paid.

It isn’t about how much money you spend or how radical the change is. It’s simply about trying something new. Challenges, new experiences, new skills, and new views feed the soul. 

Too often, when we hear motivational speakers or experts talk about breaking out of a rut, it all seems so drastic. They tell us how to reach for the stars and be brave enough to trade in our lives for something else. I think all of that is great and can be the right move for some of us. Nonetheless, I don’t think you have to chuck out your entire livelihood in order to feel alive again.

Sometimes, it just takes a dog agility class or a Pinterest craft or a slightly new hairstyle to make us remember that we aren’t done exploring yet. I hope that this week, you take some time to try something new, to learn something new, or to be something new. As my favorite quote of all time says, “You are not a tree.” So I hope this week, you feel moved to move away from the sights you’re used to and discover something new.

​

Please Remember

You can be anything you want 
At any point.
Even when it feels
Like you are stuck
In a monotonous cycle
Of “Yes, Sirs,” and 
Glued to the 
Track you’ve already
Chugged down,
You are never trapped.



It’s never too late to
Dream new dreams, 
To adapt the old ones
Into newer versions
That fit who you’ve become.

Because Girl, we’re
All becoming and
Changing.
Our dreams 
Are fleeting visions,
Targets to aim
For but to never
Swear by.


It’s okay to change
Your mind
Your heart
Your vision
Your destination.


And even when
The bystanders tell you
The path ahead is too
Perfect to abandon,
It’s okay to veer left or 
Right or up or
Down. 
Because they think they can 
See what you see but
They can’t.



You are capable of
Changing your dream,
Your mind, 
Your situation.
You can be
Whatever your heart
Wants to be. 
You can hurdle over
The roadblocks. 
You can turn your map around.
You can traipse through mud
And weeds and past
Wildlife if you have to.
You are stronger
Than you even know.

You are not stuck.
You are not planted,
Seared into the ground.
You are free-flowing,
You are powerful,
You are going somewhere.


So take the class.
Make the move.
Send the application.
Dream the dream.
Dream it again.
And again if you have to.
Find that thing
That lights you up
From within, and
Let that light be
The lantern to lead
You when things 
Feel impossible.
Because you 
Can 
Overcome
impossible.

​

Excited.
Honored.
Almost vomiting.

If you’re reading this post right now, I’m going to assume the following:

1. You’re been granted or tasked with teaching a creative writing course at your high school, summer camp, or even a higher education institute. 
   
2. You are feeling at least one if not all of the above emotions.
   
3. You’re looking for advice on where to start.
   

The reason I’m willing to bet these three things are true is because I was you about seven years ago. When I got the chance to take over our high school creative writing program in my third year of teaching, I felt all of the above emotions–but mostly the vomiting emotion. 

It wasn’t that I felt incapable of teaching writing. Writing had been my passion for as long as I could remember–it was why I became an English teacher. I’d spent years of my childhood filling notebooks with made-up tales of fluffy bunnies, talking parrots, and everything in between (usually involving an animal or ten). In addition, when I was granted the opportunity to take over the classes, I’d already been published several times.

Still, there’s something about being given the reins to a creative class that is daunting. For one, most of us teachers like structure, organization, and a methodical plan. With creative writing class, I found none of that in place. For one, there isn’t a set structure to teaching a subjective topic like creative writing. The mere subject matter itself makes a scope and sequence difficult to map out. Furthermore, there are very few resources out there for high school creative writing teachers, probably because it isn’t a commonly taught class (thanks, standardized testing, right?). And although it feels great to set down the English teacher textbook and finally focus on creativity, where do you even begin knowing what to actually teach? The state standards offer little structure or help, giving vague hints about style and voice. Still, what should a high school class focus on? How should students be assessed? How do you teach someone to be creative?

These were all questions I struggled with in my first few years of teaching the course. How did I sort it out? Trial and error, mostly. I made mistakes. I restructured. I tried new activities, and abandoned some old ones. And eventually, over the years, I created a class that felt right. It’s a class where I love to be–and so do my students, for the most part. It’s a class where I feel like they’re learning what they need to know for the field but still have freedom to make choices and be themselves. It’s a class with assessments and direct instruction but different in the sense the kids aren’t smothered by expectations of mastery. In a sense, it’s a free-flowing class that still offers a sense of structure and expectations.

Today, I not only have Creative Writing I class that I teach and developed, but I have Level II and a Novel Writing course. Since that first class, I’ve also become a USA Today Bestselling author. Still, even now, the thing I love about teaching creative writing is that no two classes are ever the same. The thing you’ll learn in this book, hopefully, is that there isn’t a one-size-fits-all approach to teaching creative writing. It ebbs and flows. It transforms as you change, too. 

Thus, I decided to write a book to share what I've learned along the way. I hope to give you practical tips for starting up your own creative writing class or curriculum. I’ll talk about tried and true strategies that have worked for me in the classroom, basic tenants to use in your own class, and activities I’ve enjoyed. We’ll talk about how to establish grading standards that give you flexibility and how to organize your class to maximize learning while still letting students have options. I’ll talk about how to create a helpful critique environment where students feel comfortable growing. 

I wrote this book for a few reasons. Other books out there focus either solely on activities or exclusively on writing theory. I didn’t feel like there was a book out there for “real” teachers–teachers who face the challenges of time, behavior, and pressure. I wanted to write a book from the heart, in a way, one that speaks to my own successes and learning curves. Most of all, I wanted to write a book in the hopes of inspiring you to create your own favorite class–because my creative writing class is my breath of fresh air during the day. When done well, your creative writing class can become a safe haven not only for your students to learn how to express themselves, but for you to be the kind of teacher I think we all want to be. It might not feel like it now. You might be feeling overwhelmed and like vomiting. But I promise, if you read this book and then make the ideas your own, you’ll shine. 

And let me say this, right at the beginning. It doesn’t matter how skilled you are in writing or how fancy your prompts are. It doesn’t matter if you have basic prompts or elaborate schemes. It doesn’t matter if you have technology or yellow wooden pencils to work with. It doesn’t matter if you can afford to take your class to the Globe Theater or if you barely have a broom closet to teach out of. None of that is needed to be a successful creative writing teacher, which is perhaps what I love the most.

I’m going to tell you the underlying secret to success now so you can keep it in mind the whole book. Sure, the other tips are nice and can be helpful. But at the core of your writing class, if you can keep this one thing in mind, you’ll be just fine. You’ll be more than fine–you’ll be wildly successful.

The secret?

Make the students feel safe enough to be seen, and you’ve won.

The rest is just filler.

Scroll down to read my first tip for Free. Then, if you want more tips, be sure to check out my book on Teaching High School Creative Writing now.


​

Strategy One: Put down the red pen.

    What matters most?

    Over the years, numerous students have sat in my creative writing class desks and penned all sorts of works. My class is a mix of tenth through twelfth graders of all different abilities and levels. Some students dream of publishing a novel. Some have already started. Several take the class because they want to get better at writing. A few follow their friends. Still others end up in my class because it’s the only course that fits in their schedule and it was either that or stay back another year. 

    All types of students and writers sit in my class with all different starting levels–that became apparent from day one. Thus, I found myself asking very early on in my writing teaching days the question posed above: What matters most?

    As an English teacher, I’d been taught that grammar is crucial to success, and we have to model appropriate grammar for our kids at all times. I can remember my student teacher mentor blasting me for using an improper form of a word during teaching one time. Thus, in the writing classroom, it can be difficult to let go of the notion that misspellings and typos must be corrected.

    One of my favorite books to share excerpts from, The Road by Cormac McCarthy, demonstrates a harsh truth English teachers seldom recognize; in certain periods of time, grammar is superfluous. His apocalyptic novel uses minimal punctuation and almost no dialogue marks. In this dog-eat-dog world, the story is what matters, not the restrictions of grammar.

    Thus, in my creative writing class, I follow this bare-bones lead. This is because when I asked the question about what mattered in my class, it was clear to me what my answer was. Creativity. Confidence. Voice. These were the things I wanted my kids to leave with, no matter how they came to me. I wanted my students to learn to be imaginative and take risks in their ideas. The only bad idea was a boring one–I wanted them to be brave and come up with new concepts that really had no other place in their academic day. I wanted to take advantage of the freedom I had without standardized testing, and I wanted to pass those benefits on to them.

    Most classrooms in a school setting don’t have the luxury of stepping away from rigid state requirements and high-stakes testing. Thus, most of my students don’t get the opportunity to explore creativity at its finest–the kind that sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. They’ve been programmed to tirelessly seek the “correct” answer and perfect their grades, thus, arguably stifling their imaginations. I wanted my classroom to be a place that felt different than other classes, not because we are kicking back and doing nothing but because it was a place they were free to take risks, make mistakes, and still get applauded. I wanted my writing class to focus on content generation and ideas, not perfecting English concepts.

    I also wanted them to learn confidence. Many of my best creative writing students struggle with grammar, spelling, and the traditional English classroom. They are used to getting papers back that look like they’ve been massacred–red pen highlighting every single mistake. “You can’t,” these red etchings say to them. Many of them have come to believe them.

    Thus, I made a quick decision in year one that grammar and spelling wouldn’t affect grades in my writing class. I do not have a red pen in that class. I do not correct apostrophes or misspellings. We highlight tense changes because that is part of the writing guidelines, and we talk about how too many run-ons or fragments can get in the way of a message. Other than that, I don’t make note of anything else. This is not the class to analyze commas in a compound sentence or the proper use of a semicolon. 

    The result, I’ve found, is that voices once stifled are able to rise above their limitations. Students who struggle with grammar shed the weight of “you can’t” vibes and let their own voices ring out. They tell their stories, unencumbered by a lack of vocabulary or understanding of syntax. They let their truths shine and showcase vulnerabilities that otherwise would have been hidden. They learn early on their voices matter more than any red pen.

    Won’t ignoring grammar mistakes make it difficult for you to read and grade their works appropriately? I’ll cover this in a later chapter, but in my class, almost all of the grading is done through read alouds. This not only makes your task as a grader more efficient, but it also helps the students to learn from each other. They internalize the learning on a whole different level. 

    Most of all, though, this approach helps the students learn what I think the class should be all about, at least in an introductory level: they learn confidence. Suddenly, the “You can’t” message becomes “You can.” I have seen the genuine smiles of students who have only ever had their writing corrected beam brightly when they’re given compliments on their ideas. I’ve come to learn, too, that you can’t fix grammar in isolation. Once students have the confidence in their writing and in their story, only then does grammar even matter. When they understand they have a story worth telling, then you can begin to tackle the complex, abstract issues of how poor grammar detracts from their message. If they don’t truly believe they have words worth sharing, why would it matter if a few commas or improperly placed modifiers detract from the meaning?

    This is, of course, not the way you have to run your creative writing classroom. The beautiful thing about this subject and course is there are countless ways of teaching it in a beneficial way. Maybe you’ll decide to hold onto the red pen just a little bit, or maybe you’ll put it on reserve for later in the course. Maybe the grammar stickler in you won’t let you loosen the grip. Still, I challenge you to at least put the red pen down for a few months and see what progress you can make on content creation. I think once you see for yourself the impact you can have by taking the perfectionist pressure off of your writers, you’ll understand the benefits firsthand. You’ll start to hear ideas and creativity I would argue you wouldn’t otherwise.

    Eventually, if you feel the need to focus on grammar, consider focusing on grammar issues that publishers commonly note finding in manuscripts. Some of the issues I’ve worked through with editors include:

• Overusing the word “that”
  
• Overusing adverbs
  
• Not using enough action verbs
  
• Using tell instead of show
  
• Overusing the word “very”
  
• Repeated words in close proximity
  

    If you tackle grammar from a publishing/style perspective instead of a technical perspective, students understand it in a more meaningful way. They have a reason to clean up some of their usage and begin to realize how these small changes impact their wording, impact, and voice 


The Takeaway:

• Avoid making your creative writing class “another English class.” Instead, promote freedom of ideas by ignoring grammar mistakes, at least in the beginning. 
  
• Promoting content generation and creativity are skills that serve all learners in the long-run. Most students don’t get to practice these in a low-pressure environment, so make your class a place to explore.
  
• Focus on what students are doing well in order to build confidence.
  
• Establish a “you can” attitude about writing before you teach the students to take ownership for more complex concepts such as grammar.
  

​

Maybe it was actually prophetic, the way I cried and panicked leading up to the day. Maybe deep down, beyond what my family and friends deemed ridiculous tears, I could already sense what was coming. Or maybe, in the credo of those who believe in manifesting, I brought it all down on myself with my late night weep fests over getting older and turning 30. Regardless, back at 29, the thought of thirty candles on my cake freaked me out–yet I still had no idea the impending storm coming my way.

My family, my husband, my friends–they all reassured me thirty was a good thing. I heard champagne promises of the “best years coming” and “stability” and “inner peace.” I bought the thirty lie for a while, imagining myself as Jennifer Garner in 13 Going on 30–Flirty and Thriving.

But now, at 34, I can honestly tell you–this has NOT been the thriving, flirty decade the movies like to portray. I don’t feel like the women in all the movies I watched growing up, where they confidently strut in stilettos through offices and up career ladders. In my version of my thirties, red lipstick can’t fix everything (trust me, I’ve tried), and there isn’t always a fun New York City club scene to drown your work sorrows in. There isn’t the witty best friend or the cocktail parties to attend. I have a gorgeous sparkly top for work to evening wear events that I have yet to break out.

In truth, for me, my thirties have been an amalgamation of watching the hard work of my twenties pay off–only to find out there are new problems on the horizon.

So far, my thirties have been marked by job loss and financial uncertainty, thanks in part to a world pandemic but also, I think, because it’s life, which is never certain. There have been health scares and threats of war looming in the distance. There have been weird talks of “new normal” and enough changes in the past few years to last a lifetime. 

There has been the loss of the beloved dog we bought in our early twenties to go with our white picket fence life we have yet to have time to appreciate. There have been constant answerings to social pressures as to why we, a married couple, don’t want children. There has been looking around at our collection of things and accomplishments as questions like, “What now?” circle endlessly.

There have been existential crises on a daily basis about why I’m here, if I’m living my purpose, and what the hell happiness truly is besides a Starbucks coffee and bag of chocolate. There have been questions of whether or not the dreams I worked so hard for in my twenties are actually even my dreams anymore. There are looming regrets and “What ifs?” and “What’s it all for?”

There have been struggles with a changing body and slowing metabolism. There has been weight gain and wondering if I’m still pretty. There have been constant mental battles over the gray hairs, the wrinkles cropping up, and a wistful look at photos of the past when I was a “better version.”

In short, there has been very little stiletto wearing, cocktail drinking, and strutting with the assurance of the flirty thirties of the movies.

I will admit, I didn’t go into it all blindly. Some people tried to warn me. They told me in my twenties, when I was frantically worrying about finding peace and stability and success to enjoy those years. Your twenties are fun and lighthearted. You’re not expected to really know anything, and hangovers barely feel like anything. They told me to live it up, that they were fun years. 

I just didn’t believe them.

People told me that life is tiring and the adult world is full of complex injustices. They told me that money would always be hard and relationships took a lot of work. They told me how exhausting and stressful the 9 to 5 hustle could be.

I still didn’t believe them.

Still, there’s one important piece I think is so often let out, and it’s been the piece I’ve struggled with the most. Because people warned me to enjoy my twenties, but no one told me how the #1 soul killer in your thirties would be something completely unexpected: monotony.

There’s something to be said for settling into your thirties, a life of (hopefully) stability where you’ve sort of figured out the hard stuff. You’ve made the big decisions and perhaps settled into your career. You’ve found a routine and your place in the world. All of this seems like it would secure your thirties as the perfect decade. 

But I’ve found–it doesn’t.

First of all, stability, I think, is always a myth. Life is constantly changing, as I’ve learned. You can do all the “right” things and make good choices. Life will still come for you when you’ve least expected because, well, that’s life. 

And furthermore, even if you do find solid ground to build your foundation on, you aren’t guaranteed happiness. With the stability come all of the haunting questions.

Is this what I really want?

Is life supposed to be this predictable and dull?

Is this really it for the rest of my life?

Sometimes, I think the hardest thing is waking up in your thirties and realizing this might not be sustaining, that your soul searching isn’t done. Because although the movies want us to believe we’ll have it all sorted out by thirty, the thing I’ve come to learn is: very few of us do.

I write this article not for pity or reassurance from those of you who have passed through this decade. I don’t write this article as a word of warning to those in your twenties. I don’t even write this article to commiserate with my fellow thirty-somethings. I write this article because I think we all need to be reminded, whatever decade we’re in, of a few things.

1. There is no magic number where life just falls into place. That’s perfectly okay.
2. Your twenties are for figuring out who you are and what you want–but so are your 30s. And your 40s. And your 70s. And your 90s. 
3. Life is about evolving. Stability is a blessing, but it also comes at a price–sometimes that price is passion, excitement, and the things that make life beautiful.
4. Adult life is really hard, no matter what your age is. There are no guarantees for a perfect, easy time of life.

My thirties haven’t been the gleeful decade I’d hoped for when I hesitantly blew out those thirty candles. Still, they are part of my story. They’re part of my evolution as a person, an evolution I don’t think will ever be done. At least I hope not.

Because now, I’m learning that yes, you are different in your thirties–and that can be a good thing. It’s okay to dream new dreams. It’s okay to still feel a little (or a lot) lost. That’s part of what this whole journey is about.

One of my favorite quotes or mantras is: “You are not a tree.” It reminds me that you don’t ever have to be stagnant in your dreams, your life, or your pursuits. Despite what the movies and media tell us, there isn’t a deadline to self-discovery.  If you get to your thirties and find yourself lacking, give yourself permission to dream new dreams, to mix it up, and to find excitement–and that goes for your forties, fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, nineties, and beyond, too.

No matter how many candles are on that cake, put on the red lipstick and the stilettos if you want–or go barefoot. Regardless, this life is short. It is your duty to find what lights you up, no matter what your age.

Go fearlessly forward, and don’t let the number of candles stop you. Ever.

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If you love unreliable narrators, true stories, and the medieval time period, The Last Duel is a movie that you should definitely add to your list.

Armored with a top-notch cast that includes Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, and Adam Driver, this movie is packed with high-quality acting and a storyline that will keep you guessing. Based on a true story, it follows two friends (played by Matt Damon and Adam Driver) who are torn apart by rivalry. The heart of the movie rests on a disturbing accusation that Adam Driver's character raped Matt Damon's character's wife. Of course, as the title suggests, it is determined the matter will be settled by a duel.

At first, I deemed this movie to skip around too much. The viewer is left in a dizzying state of lacking orientation as the story skips from event to event without any smooth progression. We first follow Jean De Carrouge's story (Matt Damon) and his account of events. The story is engaging but it is jilting because of the time and place jumps. However, we are treated to a story of chivalry, courage, and perseverance, all things that make the main character admirable despite some shortcomings.

Here's my favorite part of the movie, though; after we get Jean De Carrouge's story, the movie essentially starts over, this time from Jacques Le Gris's perspective (Adam Driver). This seems like it would be dull, but the movie is so well-written that it isn't. The new perspective we get shows us the same main events but with different additions due to the new narrator. We get new details that potentially change our mind and view of the other characters.

And finally, we get a third perspective: Marguerite De Carrouge. Again, this retelling of events gives us a new way of looking at what we thought previously.

This is a movie that constantly will make you think and question. It's a movie about how we perceive reality and who the real villain is. I love anything with an unreliable narrator, but this flipped that concept on its head by giving us three different narrators. I loved how small perspective changes flipped my ideas over and over again.

I did find the ending slightly lacking only because I wanted more. However, this is a movie that is expertly done with a star cast. I loved that it told a true story in an engaging way. I also loved that at the heart of the movie is a powerful and jarring message about reality, about women, and about who is left to tell the truth.

I highly recommend this movie, especially for date night, as I think its engaging construct will captivate a wide array of audiences. It will stand out in my mind as a very unique movie of which I have never seen anything similar. 

I fell for the 30 lie when I was in my teens and twenties. You know, the lie that says you'll have your life all figured out and perfected by that third decade.

Maybe it was the movie "13 Going on 30" that did it. I just pictured myself at 30 with a life that reeked of fulfillment, joy, and purpose. I would get up everyday with my sleek body, put on a professional outfit, and step outside of my home worthy of a magazine to greet the day with a smile. I would know exactly who I was and what I wanted. I would have achieved my goals and be living a life where everyday felt full of purpose and passion.

I fell for the 30 lie...and then, when I turned 30, it all sort of crumbled.

I realized very quickly after blowing out those 30 candles that the movies, society, the magazines that seem to suggest your 20s are for exploring and your 30s are where it's at....well, they missed some important points.

Like the point that no one really figures it all out by a certain age. Like that, as cheesy as it sounds, it's truly about the journey.

The thing is: there is no endpoint in our self-fulfillment journeys. We are always evolving, changing, growing, and learning (if we're doing this life thing remotely right). What we think we want at 30 might not be what we want at 32 anymore. And that dream we had in our teens might not fulfill us any longer in our 40s. Life is truly about changing, and, thus, we sometimes must change our visions for life, too.

Then, of course, there's the fact that life never quite goes as we expect it. Unexpected tragedies, surprises, and opportunities crop up. Sometimes, the path we thought we were on falls out from under us and we are left floundering.

I've come to learn in my 30s that this thing called life is a winding journey. It's never done. It's never flattened out. 

I think the best we can do is commit to a life where we constantly assess what we want, what makes us happy, and where our passions are. There is no such thing as a perfect life, but there is such a thing as perfecting our reflective powers to figure out where are passions lie at different points in our life.

So, this year, I hope you take some time, no matter what your age, to reassess. 

*What do you LOVE?
*When are you happiest?
*Do you have more good days than bad?
*What are the blessings in your life?
*What do you wish you had more of in your life?

And then, once you've reflected on that, I hope you find a way to bring more into your life this year--more joy, more passion, and more moments that make you feel peace. 

If you're doing that, no matter what age you are, I think you'll find that this life is crazy beautiful and fulfillment although everchanging, is possible.