I woke up this morning to the insistent chirping of birds, and for a moment, I was confused. Far from the train horns that wake me in the city, I’m spending a few days in a small cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, just outside of Shenandoah.
After my prayers and devotion, I made myself a cup of coffee, stepped out into the cool morning, and took a big gulp of air. The sun was out and the air was crisp - the kind that forces you to slow down, breathe deeper, and stay present.
I didn’t sleep well, because Mother Nature, in her usual irony, decided that today would be the perfect day to start my cycle. But sitting there by the fire pit, coffee in hand, the sounds of birds filling the quiet, I couldn’t help but feel thankful - deeply, quietly thankful - for the journey that’s led me here.
Last year, I ushered in 30 surrounded with some of my closest friends in CapeTown. We spent the day at a vineyard on the Cape and capped it with a 14-course meal along the V&A Waterfront. At some point during dinner, I cried, overwhelmed by the love that surrounded me. It was, in every sense, magical.
This year looks different. It’s quieter. Solitary. Which is fitting. Because if 30 was the year of arrival - of stepping into a new decade - then 31, I think, is about reckoning.
If I’m honest, 30 was one of, if not the, hardest year of my life. It was tumultuous in ways I didn’t anticipate. It’s the year I struggled most with purpose and identity. The year that asked more questions than it answered. The year that stretched me in ways I didn’t know I could bend without breaking. The storms came without warning, and for a while, I wasn’t sure I’d weather them. Dr. R was on speed dial (and thank God for that).
I posted this caption on Instagram last year about turning 30:
“There’s a newfound clarity in knowing exactly what I deserve…This isn’t about reinvention - it’s about refinement.”
Turns out, that newfound clarity was a bit of a hoax. Because if there’s one thing Dr. R and I have agreed on this year, it’s that I don’t know much of anything right now. About my work. About love. About what’s next. I am, perhaps, the most unsure I’ve ever been.
But here’s what I’m learning: reinvention and refinement aren’t mutually exclusive - they coexist. You don’t stop reinventing just because you’ve refined. You do both, over and over again.
After a bit of lazy journaling, I went on a hike. On the trail, there was a marker that split two ways - left or straight ahead. A choice had to be made. I stood there longer than I’d like to admit, realizing how much that moment mirrored my life right now.
I’ve been asking myself a lot lately: what led me here? Where along this journey did I turn right when I should’ve gone left - or kept straight?
You see, adulthood is about making countless tiny choices every day:
Do I make dinner or order in?
Do I keep seeing someone when I already know there’s no future?
Do I keep the job or try something different?
It’s the small, mundane choices, but also the big terrifying ones. For some, it’s easier to hand control of those choices over to others - to fate, to convenience, to comfort.
But me? I like control. I like steering the ship, even when I don’t know the destination. Because if I sink, at least it would be by my hands (you can blame that on being the eldest daughter of Nigerian parents).
And I think that’s part of why this year has felt so stagnant - I’ve felt out of control. Like I made a turn somewhere that led me to a version of life I didn’t choose, and then got stuck having to live with it. It was suffocating, and I never want to feel that way again.
So this year, I’m using my free will to walk back to that metaphorical marker - and choose differently. I can do that. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll choose differently again and again.
Last week, I was talking to my best friend D - who, by the way, shares the same birthday as me (Happy Birthday, D!) - and I confessed to her that I wasn’t content with my life. That at 30, I thought something big would’ve happened by now. Something defining. Instead, I feel…in between.
I told her, half-jokingly, that if I still feel this way next year, I’ll put my stuff in storage and move - maybe Paris, maybe London, maybe Lagos. Her response was simple:
“Why wait?”
And honestly, why should I? I have no obligations tying me down. I work remotely. The only thing standing in my way is me - my fear of disrupting stability in pursuit of possibility. I didn’t realize it until now, but I tend to get complacent - not wanting to disrupt the equilibrium for the unknown.
So maybe 31 is about just that - disrupting the equilibrium. About embracing the unknown. About trusting that even if I can’t see around the corner, I’m still on the right path.
Because as D said in a voice note she sent me this afternoon:
“Allow yourself to be surprised by God.
Step outside of yourself, dream again, and watch how He redeems what you thought was lost.”
So that’s my hope for 31 (and the rest of my 30s, for that matter) - to let myself be surprised.
I don’t know what’s next, but I do know this: I want to keep choosing, keep walking, keep paying attention to the divine nudges disguised as detours and markers. I want to keep trusting that every turn, even the “wrong” ones, lead me exactly where I’m meant to be.
At the Crossing:
I’m still that city girl who finds comfort in noise and movement, but I’m learning that stillness can feel just as alive.
Here’s to surprising myself and being surprised.
Until the next avenue,
-J.
happy 31, Beloved! 🎂
Lagos would be too pleased to have you 💗