30 Of the Things I’ve Learned in 30 Years

30.

30.

30.

The number dangled in the air from the moment I turned 29 at midnight on September 16, 2017. I cupped my hand around my iPhone, while on a conference call with my New Yorkers, at some smoky bar in Vienna, hearing a string of WhatsApp and text messages ping to their own melody. To a tune of friendship, set in the chord of how the hell did it get here so fast?

I’ve made a habit of thinking ahead of my age. I was 16 when I was 15, 21 at 20 and 25 at 24. I credit this mentality to my intolerable enthusiasm, the copious dreams I have for every lap around the sun, and well, to my distaste of patience.

And while I wish the grand, marvelous distraction of travel would keep me from thinking about 30 as I rounded the globe throughout my 29th year—the anticipation lingered here and there. The reminder would show on my brow, at the hint of a gray hair, at the longer-lasting hangovers I couldn’t deny. And definitely at the constant countdown until July, when one journey would come to a stammering one-way end.

And a new one would begin.

As they always do, as they always have. As they always will.

But they always go forward.

Never backwards.

And though 30 doesn’t roll off my tongue—just yet—if I could go back to 20, I wouldn’t. I don’t recognize that girl now. I feel her uncertainty though. Her hesitation. Her fear. No, I would give her a hug and tell her to relax. To calm down, honey. I’d pour her a cocktail and ask her why she hasn’t applied for a passport yet. Rub her shoulders and tell her to smile with her teeth, and with all of the frivolous hope she keeps hidden away, afraid her vulnerability would deter people.

That’s because it would. And it did—but they didn’t matter.

A decade later, I promise you girl, you don’t even remember their names.

And more importantly, there are so many names you haven’t been introduced to yet, who had no meaning to you at the age of 20. And now, these people mean everything to you. They are best friends you haven’t met yet.

But on the eve of your 30th? You’ll be surrounded by them.

I can never sleep the nights before my birthdays—as if it’s my own personal Christmas Eve. I toss and turn, wrangle the sheets and eventually, admit defeat. This year was no different. I wiggled out of bed, afraid of waking my sleeping bestie, who flew from LA for my big birthday. His friendship is like that: oversized and encompassing, generous and goofy. I smiled at him and tucked the sheets up to his chin and closed the door behind me. How lucky I felt to have not just one, but more than a dozen immense bonds, ones that connected across milestones and transitions, countries, continents and cities.

A decade of connections, both missed and made, physically and emotionally—and here I was.

I was 30.

And I was ready.

As I tend to create, I had the vision of my 30th birthday morning carefully crafted in my mind for months. I’m always one to work ahead. After all, I was sitting by a pool in Thailand nine months ago when I booked this Airbnb. I knew I wanted my tribe under the same roof: the New Yorkers, the Yugens, the new, the old, the she’s and the he’s. I also planned to rise before them, to sit on the balcony and overlook the Manhattan skyline. To admire my city. The one that’s captivated me through all of the years, all of the trials, all of the travels. Its sparkling mess, its chaotic fever, its unwavering, blunt loyalty makes it—still— my favorite metropolitan on the planet. That’s sort of how first loves are, I think: the rose-colored lens never quite morph to black.

I tiptoed past the sleeping friend on the pullout, grabbed the 15 or so cards, carefully inscribed with Tigar or Linds, LT, or Lindsay Tigar, all monikers I answer to, all handwriting I recognize at first glance. After quietly closing the sliding glass door, I sat down on the red fold up chair, preparing myself for the tears, eager to have a dose of my preferred love language, feeling like a junkie, prepping for the next hit. I couldn’t love love more, and I couldn’t think of any better present than to read words of love from those I adore. Those who flew from Chicago, LA, Salt Lake City, Boston, Indianapolis and beyond. Those who commuted from Brooklyn, the Upper East Side and Hell’s Kitchen, which might not require a flight but for NYers, traveling to Jersey speaks volumes for their affection.

Because just like I feel ownership for my city, these people are my people.

They are the ones who spent a decade cheering on my every achievement. And those who have barely known me a year, but have been my home away from home. Those who have made me this human I’ve become: imperfect and yet polished, confident and supremely kind. Their voices are my cheerleaders, their smiles my safe harbor.

I tour apart the first envelope carefully and took a deep breath… until I felt the heat of the sun on my face. I tried to squint through and considered sunglasses. But after a few minutes it was clear: though it is usually cloudy and tad cool on all of my birthdays before, the 30s were being welcomed with sunshine.

A beautiful, unforgiving, relentless and shiny, sun that shot a ray right through my morning plans.

I grinned and shook my head, remembering how silly it was to think I could control any of it. That I could anticipate the weather—or how I’d feel. On this moment I built in my head, as I do, as I have, as I’m trying to quit. Because who can predict their best friends would make the trek, rent a car, go to Costco and decorate a temporary home to the theme of a star? And as I’ve been bouncing between what feels like galaxies, shooting for it all, wishing for all of my dreams to come true… I didn’t realize so many of them already have.

The last year taught me that.

Somewhere along the way of touring through 19 countries, taking 60 flights and sleeping in 80 beds… I stopped closing my eyes and crossing my fingers for the one item off my list I missed… and I felt such gratitude for what I created from my seemingly, star-studded life:

Happiness.

As I blew out my birthday cakes, at a mysterious spaghetti restaurant on the Lower East Side I had never heard of, surrounded by friends and filled with love, I wished to be happy. As I did, the paper star I licked and stuck to my cheek flew off, shooting me and my hopes into this next decade. My 20s scattered about, covered in gold dust, and I opened my eyes to admire, in great awe and gratitude, at the beautiful company I collected.

Perhaps, more than anything, what I learned from 20 to 29 was simple at the end.

I figured out how to find my own sort of peace. I calmed down. I let the pressure go. I grew tired, but determined. I savored friends for what they brought to my life, instead of demanding what I thought I needed. I figured out happiness isn’t about arriving at something or finding someone, but it is something you choose daily. Something you prioritize. It can’t be given to you by anyone else—and you can’t derive it from any job or any salary. I’ve determined my own path so many times—and then went the opposite direction—but I was never lost. I was just wandering. And well, most of the time, I was never alone.

Regardless of where I stood (or flew), if looked hard enough, I managed to be… happy. I’ve worked for it. I’ve earned it. I’ve found it. I’ve cherished it.

And in my 30s, that’s exactly what I hope for: continued, imperfect, humble happiness.

So, 20 year old me? Let’s recap.

You were disappointed about not being named the editor of the college newspaper. You desperately wanted to move to New York. You equally desperately, wanted the validation of a man to ensure you would be married by the time you’re 25.

Instead, late-bloomer-you, at 25, you finally got a passport.

You had a single byline in a single magazine, but you ran a website. You wore high heels to many inappropriate occasions—and thought it was necessary. Your hair was blonde. Your mindset was as naive as the first bloom of spring. You were beautiful then, and you are now. But luckily, you’ve learned quite a lot. And you’ve grown so much. You should be so, so proud, Linds. I think 20-year-old you would be mighty surprised by how far you’ve come, how much you’ve achieved and how much you still have ahead of you.

So my dear, here’s what you didn’t know ten years ago, that now, you can’t deny:

1: The greatest gift you can give anyone is the permission to be themselves. And to be the open arms and ears they need when the world tells them they cannot.

2: Listen. To what people say, and what they don’t. Pay attention and take notes. Don’t think about what you’re saying in response, just open those ears. Remember how special it feels to be heard.

3: Jump. Out of an airplane. Into opportunities. Into every day of your life. Down the scary rabbit hole of effortlessly and blissfully falling in love. Into the parts that feel uncomfortable….

4: … and on that note, feeling uncomfortable doesn’t ever get easier. But you become more comfortable realizing you don’t need to be at ease to be content. In fact, you learn a lot more when you don’t have the answer. You live more wildly in the unknown.

5: Grand gestures are romantic. So are roses. Champagne is nice. But a partner who will read your article you’re nervous about and give you feedback, let you cry when you get turned down by a book agent and remind you of the badass person you are is much sexier.

6:  In other words, find a partner. Not an emergency responder. You can put out your own fires…

7: … and you can start them, too.

8: Say ‘yes’. But remember there is an undeniable power in saying ‘no’, too.

9: You can never put too much kindness into the world. But be mindful of those who mistake your empathy for weakness. They don’t deserve the warmth. Your light doesn’t have to fuel the world, but it can make those within your orbit feel magnetic.

10: When in doubt, have another round. Good stories come from the second cocktail.

11: When in doubt, you’ll never regret the Uber home.

12: Home. A four-letter word and an indescribable feeling you have when you’re with those who make you feel loved. It doesn’t have to be an address, but a landing pad is nice to have. Having them in several countries and cities on the couch of people who fill your phone with daily messages is even better.

13: Dreaming something doesn’t make it so. Ambition and diligence does. The hours are more important than the fame.

14: Not everyone deserves a second chance. But the ones who do, will never ask for a third.

15: We are all humans at our core: parents, friends, lovers, bosses, strangers. Being human is our connector, it’s also how we can start to forgive each other for not being perfect.

16: Don’t delay the flight. But also, know you’re never too old to begin exploring the world.

17: You’re also never too young to achieve whatever it is you set your sights on. Prove them wrong—and then hire them later.

18: You will never regret gaining 10 pounds. But you will regret skipping freshly-baked croissants in France, wine by the gallon in Spain, empanadas in Argentina, churros in Mexico, mango sticky rice in Thailand and ramen in Japan. Some experiences are worth the calories.

19: *Most experiences are worth the calories.

20: The hardest part is believing in what you don’t know, what you can’t explain or what you can’t predict. The easiest part is that crystal-clear, hit-you-in-your-gut feeling that happens when you stumble across something special, without worrying about it. Be open to that punch. Don’t duck.

21: If you have to screenshot a text message and send it to every one of your girlfriends, he’s not the right person for you. Instead, go take a nap, or put on a face mask. Get some wine with your gals. Book a last-minute trip. Move forward—and don’t pack the baggage with you. KGs are limited on most flights worth taking, anyway.

22: Save your money. Repeat this mantra: save, save, save. Things are overrated. Experiences are how your soul begins to grow 30 times its size.

23: Your soulmate isn’t the answer to your anxiety. It isn’t what will define your heart. You decide what that all-powerful organ is capable of. Whenever he comes along, he’s just there to ask questions on how you became the wonderful human he feels lucky to find.

24: You’ve heard it before… but seriously. Don’t settle. Don’t do it. Not in your career, not in your love life, not in your friendships, not in your wine choice. Trust me, your head will thank you for the extra $10 spent in the morning.

25: Invest in people who invest in you. Done and done.

26: Never date someone who isn’t curious or interested in what you have to say. Or in who you are. If they can only speak about themselves, they don’t have room for anyone else.

27: You have to make room for people. Friends, lovers, mentors, anyone, everyone. It’s easy to spread across the whole bed, but if you move to the side, you could just be surprised by who lays next to you.

28: No, your mom doesn’t know everything. Neither do your best friends. You don’t either. It’s okay to vent and to obsess, but what you’re upset about will more than likely, solve itself with a mixture of wisdom from everyone.

29: Breathe. Put on some lipstick. Put on your headphones and go.

30: Love. Love, Lindsay, damn it, love.

And don’t ever apologize for how deeply you do it. There are too few people in the world who know how to do this. And if you know how, it is your responsibility to teach others how to lead their lives with the only emotion, the only gesture, the only thing that is truly, transcientially, universal.

It is your superpower.

Own it.

Happy birthday, lady.