The Cusp of 30 Crisis The day I turned 29 hit me like a ton of bricks. I reminisced of my twenties, the impalpability of those youthful days slipping away from my fingers. Like the foreboding feeling you get after dropping your cell phone on the pavement, mentally preparing yourself for a potentially shattered screen. I scanned my memory of my twenties like a rolodex skimming the pivotal years of lessons learned, wisdom gained, somewhat hazed by copious amounts of alcohol. There were plenty of tireless nights of balancing several jobs, while completing a college education to the seemingly never ending journey of becoming a productive member of society. Did mention the crippling feeling that my youth was seeping through the cracks? Dramatic? Perhaps. “Life crises” are often perceived as one’s life unraveling. Rather, I see it as a time of reflection and cultivating what you want to change in your life and letting go of what no longer serves you. I felt stagnant in my job, spent too much energy on toxic people and yearned to leave the mundane town I was living in. I needed out of my comfortability blanket and into the unknown, taking a plunge into the wild world. I embarked on a journey through Europe, with a 65 liter backpack, a lackluster itinerary and a shoestring budget. I spent most of my time house sitting, caring for others homes, pets and plants in exchange for accommodation. I travelled with the intention of being a conscious explorer, culturally competent and sensitive while engaging in the community I was immersed in. Listening not solely to respond, but to absorb everything. My most memorable stay was in a countryside town along the Rhein River in Germany. I spent nearly a month caring for three precious and spunky French Bulldogs and an enigmatic 18-year-old cat. My greatest concern was not if I was properly cleaning the dog's ears and wrinkles, but hoping the cat would not croak on my watch. The homeowners, Jenni and Fritz returned from their trip abroad and generously insisted I extend my stay. They were incredibly hospitable and welcoming, taking me to lesser known towns, hidden gems and local hangouts while providing insights on past and present life in Germany. With my insatiable curiosity, I bombarded Fritz with questions about life growing up in East Berlin in the 1980’s, getting into the woodworks of what life was really like, he was open, honest and shared his stories. It was Jenni’s story that will be forever ingrained in my memory. Jenni and I took a stroll on a trail that weaved through a lush forest. Neighbors on clunky bike cruisers zipped by and we could hear water trickling from a nearby creek. Jenni was a woman in her late 40’s and an American expat. She told me of her tribulations and adjusting to life in Germany over the years. She was vulnerable and shared her angst about not being able to conceive children. I didn’t pry, just listened wholeheartedly. I heard her grief, feelings of isolation and resentment towards others she experienced. That void in the sense of belonging in society that she felt. Jenni’s story really resonated with me and redefined what motherhood means to me. As women, it is conditioned at a young age that it's our destiny to be a mother. Women are often scrutinized, thought of as selfish among other labels if we're not or choose not to be mothers. Yet we can be mothers in other ways, not just to other humans. Jenni is a compassionate, nurturing mother of three French Bulldogs with personalities larger than life and an elderly cat with pep in his step. I feared turning 30 because of the unwavering societal pressure to hit life’s milestones. Being at a certain place in your career, having this and that and the looming feeling of the “clock is ticking”. After my invaluable experience abroad, I discovered I wasn’t running away from these pressures, rather, running toward new endeavours. As a woman, redefining what motherhood means and paving our own life path. Not what others define for us. Cheers to closing the door to our 20’s and embracing our 30’s.