Today I turn 30.

Last year, when I blew out the candles on my cake, I made a quiet promise to myself: create your own magic. Not the Pinterest kind. Not the “wait for life to feel big” kind. The everyday kind, hosting dinners just because it’s Tuesday, saying yes to plans that scare me a little, booking the trip, trying the thing, being the thing.

And as I look back on the last 365 days, I can honestly say: I did it.

I hosted more.

I chased adventure.

I stepped so far outside my comfort zone I’m pretty sure my comfort zone filed a missing persons report.

I filled my bucket in ways that felt intentional and joyful and very me.

So naturally, I set the bar even higher for 30.

This was going to be the year of being bold. Of trying more. Of making mistakes and seeing where they led. Of loosening my grip on control and letting life surprise me.

Which is funny — because the week leading up to my birthday was… not the magical montage I had in mind.

I didn’t feel great.

My dog ate a litre and a half of unrefrigerated chili (a sentence I never thought I’d type, yet here we are).

And overall, it was one of those weeks where life gently — and repeatedly — humbles you.

But apparently, while I was busy managing chili-related chaos and feeling sorry for myself, my people were busy creating magic for me.

Because I walked into my house and… surprise.

Decorations. My favourite humans. The kind of joy that hits you in the chest before your brain even has time to process what’s happening. And I just stood there in awe.

Not because of the streamers or the setup or even the prosecco waiting on the counter, though all deeply appreciated, but because of the effort. The coordination. The love. The fact that a group of people, beyond dear to me, chose to come together and celebrate my existence on a random evening in a way that felt so thoughtful and so intimate and so completely overwhelming.

They made an easy, perfect meal.

We drank bubbly.

We ate my all-time favourite raspberry cheesecake from Roma Bakery like it was a sacred ritual.

We toasted.

We cried.

We told childhood stories that somehow get funnier every year.

We laughed the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt and your mascara questionable.

And in the middle of it all, I had this very clear, very grounding thought. This is the magic.

Not the big plans. Not the perfectly executed goals. Not the aesthetic life moments. It’s this.

A room full of people who know you. Who have watched you grow. Who remember your weird phases and love you anyway. Who show up — not because they have to, but because they want to.

I spent the last year trying to create magic, only to be reminded on the first day of this new decade that the real magic has been beside me the entire time.

So yes — I am 30 now.

And yes — there is a small, dramatic part of me that is staring into the unknown like it’s a dark tunnel filled with joint pain and early bedtimes.

But mostly?

I feel steady.

I feel grateful.

I feel wildly, undeservedly loved.

Because if the unknown looks like more nights around a table with people who make me laugh until I cry, more surprise moments that remind me I’m not doing life alone, more opportunities to be bold and a little bit messy and very full of heart, then the unknown might actually be the best part.

So, here’s the small piece of wisdom I’m taking into this next decade:

You don’t have to create all the magic yourself.

Sometimes, if you’re very lucky, the magic is the people who show up, streamers in hand, prosecco poured, cheesecake waiting, ready to remind you that your life is already full.

Cheers to 30. I can’t wait to see what happens next.