30, Flirty & Thriving
Time has a way of folding in on itself on your birthday—suddenly, you’re every version you’ve ever been, all sitting quietly in the same room.
Today is my 30th birthday. As I respond to “Happy Birthday” texts and change my bio from “20-something doing things” to “still doing things,” I’m met with a quiet pause. A moment to reflect, take inventory, and sit with this version of myself.
Like most girls who grew up on early 2000s movies, 13 Going on 30 had its grip on me. The phrase “Thirty, flirty, and thriving” sounded like a destination. A checkpoint where everything clicks into place. But now that I’m here, I know better. Thirty doesn’t arrive with a makeover montage or a perfectly figured out life. It arrives softly. Slowly. It’s a becoming. A reclaiming. A quiet kind of knowing that didn’t show up all at once but built itself over time.
Let the record show: I am very excited for my thirties. No dramatics, no dread. Just me, staring at the big glowing number “30” with curiosity and gratitude.
But life feels big right now—and this chapter, especially, holds a sense of uncertainty. Even as I take stock of what I’ve built and achieved, I’m reminded that “figuring it out” isn’t linear. It never was.
Finding Myself (And Finding Myself Again)
Turning 30 forces you to look back—at the versions of yourself you’ve lived in, let go of, or slowly returned to. I’ve always been someone who asked what’s next? As a teenager, I juggled high school and cosmetology school with a loosely sketched plan: go to college, study criminal justice and psychology, maybe become a lawyer… maybe not. But I was always sure the next idea would come. It always did.
College became its own universe, full of firsts that reshaped me: first apartment, first heartbreak, first grappling with loneliness and independence. It carved me out, sharpened me, softened me, all at once. When my college permanently closed last year, it felt like a physical marker of my coming of age was erased. A place where so many memories, mistakes, and lessons were learned—gone. The symbolism of that isn’t lost on me. Sometimes you lose the place, but you keep the lessons.
And then there was the post-grad spiral, the wandering era. The part where “finding yourself” became less of an Instagram caption and more of a messy full-time job.
At some point the noise in my head was louder than anything around me. I didn’t have a full plan, but I knew I needed different. No blueprint, no timeline, just this gut feeling that I needed to try something else.
Next thing I knew, I was standing at LAX, suitcase in hand, staring out at a city that didn’t know me and honestly, neither did I. I tested out what life could feel like outside of what I thought was expected of me. I learned how to be alone, how to listen to my gut, how to create space between me and the version of me I left behind. LA became my playground and my classroom.
But eventually, as quietly as I left, I felt called back. So, I returned to New York, not the same girl who left, but someone ready to see the city with fresh eyes. New York in your mid-twenties hits differently. It felt like a second shot at something I hadn’t quite finished. A fresh canvas, waiting.
I’ve found a rhythm here, a lane that is mine. I’ve earned my seat at the table, and I show up every day with a deeper understanding of the kind of impact I want to make.
I know younger me would look at this version of Janae and say, "You really did that."
Fitting the Pieces
If figuring yourself out on your own wasn’t complicated enough, try doing it while fitting the puzzle pieces of you with other people—friends, partners, family. It’s not always graceful, but it’s always revealing.
Who is Janae with her friends? Who is she when she’s in love—when she’s giving, receiving, letting someone see the softer parts? Who is she when she’s hurt, when she’s healing, when she’s learning to let go with grace?
Who is Janae when she’s holding space for others? Who is she when no one is watching?
The older I get, the more I realize how many versions of me are brought to life through connection. Some people reflect my joy back to me. Others help me uncover strength I didn’t know I had.
Love (whether romantic or platonic) has been one of the greatest mirrors. And it’s through those reflections that I’ve come to know myself deeper.
I think of the words of bell hooks: “Love is an action, never simply a feeling.” That line lives in me now. Because love is in the showing up. It’s in the checking in, the choosing again, the honest conversations, the staying present when things get hard. It’s the deep trust that says: I see you, and I’m still here.
And the beautiful part? The more I’ve chosen to show up vulnerably and intentionally the more I've been met with love that reflects that same depth and truth. Love has taught me who I am and who I’m capable of becoming. It has expanded me, softened me, and reminded me that connection isn’t just something we long for—it’s something we build.
Creativity as Self Discovery
Starting a business wasn’t just about entrepreneurship for me; it was (and is) a creative outlet. A reclamation of agency. A space where I can make, build, and share without waiting for someone else’s permission. Eana became the bridge between personal expression and professional ambition.
But creativity doesn’t end with business. I’m learning that expression can—and should—be expansive. Maybe it’s writing more, painting, cooking, designing, or just giving myself space to try something new without needing it to be “productive.” Creativity is where I feel the freest version of myself live.
The Lessons My 20s Gave Me
If I had to gather the soft truths this past decade has offered me, they’d sound like this:
Resilience isn’t loud—it’s built in the quiet, in the moments right after disappointment, when no one’s clapping, but you keep going anyway.
Self-acceptance doesn’t come as one big breakthrough. It’s small, everyday choices to show up as yourself. Even when you’re unsure, even when it would be easier not to.
Uncertainty doesn’t mean you’re lost. It means you’re still asking questions, still open, still willing to grow.
And growth? It rarely announces itself. It happens in the pauses, the pivots, the slow unfolding of becoming who you were always meant to be.
If I had the chance to talk to myself at 15, here’s what I would say to her:
The Soundtrack of Becoming
Somewhere between reflection and celebration, there’s always room for a little chaos—that’s why Ratchet Happy Birthday feels perfect for this moment. And trust me, I know the face you just made. Ratchet Happy Birthday? But hear me out. While arguably one of Drake’s most disliked songs (not in my home though), it resonates with the complexity of birthdays.
It holds the duality of this milestone: honoring growth while still laughing and embracing the beautiful mess of it all. I note the lyric, “Seems like time’s out of our control.” And at 30, I’ve stopped trying to catch up to it. Time moves how it wants, unrushed and unbothered. I’m learning to move with it—more gently, more presently, and more like myself.
The song reminds me that even as I sift through shifting versions of myself, there’s always joy to be found in simply being here—alive, evolving, and unapologetically me.
The Power of 31
31 is my number. The day I was born, the quiet symbol of completion and new beginnings. 31 holds a special place in my heart. Thirty-one days in most months. Thirty-one flavors at Baskin-Robbins (yes, that counts). It feels like both a closing and an opening, like standing at the edge of something I can't yet name.
And while today marks 30 years around the sun, I carry the energy of 31 with me—knowing that I am always cycling through endings and beginnings.
Here’s to 30
So here I am, on my 30th birthday. Reflecting, but not dwelling. Aware of how far I’ve come and how much I’m still unfolding. Fully present and genuinely happy. The kind of happy that comes from knowing yourself more deeply, from surviving the hard parts, from growing through the unexpected. It gets better. The questions get quieter, the self-trust grows louder, and life starts to feel more like yours. I’m grateful for the mess, the magic, the detours, and the discoveries that brought me here. And I’m excited—truly excited—for what this new decade will bring.
30, Flirty, and Thriving… and most importantly, still finding myself—loving her a little more with each passing year.
And this? This is what I celebrate.
