“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“How do you survive?”

“I don’t know, but it seems to work. And if you don’t believe me, the last thirty years are proof it does.”

I officially made it through thirty years of life. Wow I am a bit impressed by myself actually. And proud. It feels like I have some sort of proof now, that I am able to survive.

I survived ten years in the hands of my parents, rather well.

I survived ten years in between, getting out of the nest and experimenting with different life-phases.

I survived ten years of taking my own decisions, going against a lot of good advice and what one is supposed to do.

Most times I eat the food I cooked I have to pause one moment to give myself credit. “Wow, I would marry myself on the sport, tasting what I just did…”

What does that mean? Maybe that I cooked for the wrong guys so far. Or maybe I can just feel super lucky because I don’t need to marry myself in order to attempt staying around forever. I’ll stay around forever anyways, no matter how long that will be and whether I choose to or not.

Amazing.

I am generally very amazed by this existence. How random and absurdly beautiful to be alive in this world with everything in it.

How amazing to be able to play this game of being human, with all it’s facets. The pain, the joy, the struggles and the surprises. To be able to uncover the essence of life, one decade at the time. And getting surprised over and over again. Just to be able to experience all of this, it’s like a gift I can endlessly unwrap. With each layer I pull away, my guesses of what the present will be change. And yet I have a feeling that I am not supposed to know. I just keep on immersing myself in the unwrapping process.

There is also parts of me that hurry and worry.

I thought at thirty I would have it all figured out. Stable, solid and easy to define. Luckily I haven’t. How boring would that be. Yet I fantasize about it sometimes.

Something like a house and a loving marriage, kids, the job I love and makes money. Nice friends, stable life, awesome hobbies, a few cats or was it cars?

How did I even imagine my life at thirty when I was let’s say fifteen?

I guess I saw myself on a camel, riding through strange deserts into the sunset, my hair blowing in the wind. Setting out from one adventure to the next. Doing some epic things on the way. Write a few bestselling books about it. Meeting lots of interesting people along the way. Owning a flat in my hometown. Maybe a handsome husband I reunite with from time to time. And a few almost super natural skills I required along the way.

Really when I am thinking about it, it’s all there already. I am just not able to point it out and prove it yet.

Adventures I live. Freedom. Deeply loving connections. Things I built. Independence and strength.

It’s all laying there at the tip of my fingers, literally.

And maybe I was putting those things off into the future for too long. It isn’t some miraculously wise and intellectual Francesca from the future writing this book. It isn’t some strong and independent Francesca in a few years pushing through the project, figuring it out, meeting the right people, having the strength to build that life. It’s actually me right now.

Anything I aspire to build with my life I can start building it today. Not when I reached maturity at what used to be 25, then 30, 36, 40…

I don’t have to wait for any more approval or permission.

I can stop apologizing for who I am and who I want to become. Leave the people who hold me back. Choose the ones who inspire me. Build the things I value. Choose what makes me grow. Jump into the cold water over and over again, because I know that there is no limit to expansion other than the one I refuse to accept.

When I am radically honest with myself I feel it both.

Gratitude and fear.

Being and becoming.

Complete and expanding.

Amazed.

An immense gratitude for this life right now exactly where I am at. A deep trust that I am able to figure it all out, that it will all work out, and expand into things I couldn’t even imagine yet.

And an urge to actually do it. Something pushing me from my right shoulder saying: “You can still fuck it up, you can still fall asleep and miss your chance. You still have to choose to grow everyday!” While I can hear it from behind my left shoulder: “Yes you got far, and if you want to go further you have to keep pushing hard. Aiming for expansion still has to be your daily choice.”

It’s a never ending journey. One where I can’t just rest on the achievements of yesterday. The next mountain piles up in front of me and if I don’t want to live in its shade for the rest of my life, I’ll better keep on climbing.