Dear Thirty-Year-Old Me,

Letters from Marj

Occasional letters about growing older, becoming yourself and caring a little less what everyone else thinks.

I wish you'd spent less time worrying about becoming prettier.

And more time becoming you.

Honestly, you had far more interesting things to be doing.

The lines around your eyes will arrive anyway.

So will the grey hairs.

Neither of them will matter as much as you think they do.

The things that will shape your face aren't expensive creams.

They're heartbreak.

Friendship.

The job you almost didn't take.

The one you should have left sooner.

Children, perhaps.

Travelling.

Laughing until your stomach hurts.

Crying in supermarket car parks.

Changing your mind.

Starting again.

The life you live writes itself on your face.

And one day you'll realise that's not something to erase.

It's something to be grateful for.

Because here's the funny thing...

At thirty, you think everyone is looking at you.

At fifty, you realise everyone was far too busy worrying about themselves.

What a waste of good years.

So wear the bikini.

Apply for the job.

Book the trip.

Fall in love.

Leave if you need to.

Get it wrong.

Then get it wrong again.

You're not trying to become perfect.

You're trying to become interesting.

And interesting women rarely have spotless stories.

Ageing isn't the opposite of beauty.

It's the reward for living.

Love,

Marj