I’m Single at 30 and Loving It… Honestly!

When I was a child, there were few things that frightened me more than being single at 30. Sure, sharks were up there (still are), alongside heights (grew out of this) and insects in possession of more than two legs (am yet to grow out of this). But for whatever reason, nothing was quite as scary as reaching my fourth decade without a boyfriend.

I know that sounds ridiculous. But when you’re a teenager, 30 represents adulthood in its most finite form. The age when you are officially a fully functioning member of society, one who can no longer vindicate bad behaviour by the blessing of youth. One who is supposed to have all their ducks in a row, those ducks being a home that you own, a high-flying career in a well-paid industry, and a partner of whom you are at least a little fond. Of course, all this noise also tends to feel a little louder if you happen to be a woman.

Now I’m here with none of those things and, in all honesty, I’ve never been happier. Not even in an ironic, shrieking-Sydney-Sweeney-in-Euphoria-kind-of way (google it). But genuinely. This despite the fact that, as a 12-year-old, I made pacts with several male friends to marry them if we were still single at 30. Never mind the fact I was committed to about five men before I’d even had my first kiss, I just needed to know that I wouldn’t be alone.

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