In the past, my birthday blogs were always lists of life lessons learned. But the older I get, the less I really know. Imagine that.

The hardest part about turning the big three-oh isn't necessarily the aggressive skincare regimen I need to look into, or the grays that need covering. It's about saying goodbye to the only part of my life so far that's really made me who I am.

I wrote an entire memoir about 20-something living. I became a poster child for finding love and losing love and a subject matter expert in wanting it all, but having no clue. Now here I am, closing the chapter on a decade that defined my life.

In the past ten years were things like graduating college, my first time legally at a bar, my first real job, my first (what I thought was) real relationship, my first (actual) real relationship , my first break-up, my first heartache.

My first cross country move, my first apartment, my first iPhone, my first bill in my name.

My first Michelin-starred meal, my first time flying first class, my first car.

A house. A dog. Another dog.

The list goes on and on and it's tough to reconcile where all the time has gone. Even tougher is sorting them out: what was a memory and what was a mistake?

But then I woke up 30 and realized that the deal is this: life is a one way train and it makes every stop. I can't go back to 21, and I can't skip 30. As rigid as that sounds, the benefit of getting older is the ability to experience things and appreciate them in the moment. Less sorting out. More soaking in.

I can get on board with that.