I celebrated my 29th birthday on the weekend just gone and it was great. Apart from a few bittersweet moments, it was a weekend filled with lovely experiences and plenty of food, family and friends. But it was so strawberry-jam-packed that I didn’t get much time to reflect on what had been a year liberally coated with sadness or to consider what the next year (the last of my 20s) would bring.

Or rather, what I want it to be and how I’ll change.

Unfortunately, the busy-ness of the weekend has only rolled into the even busier, and far less pleasant, activities of the current week. I’m writing this blog post after sending out many emails, organising photos and developing a program of action with some other people. I’m not writing because my brain is in the “get stuff done” phase, rather than the explorer mode that I need.

And all this activity, which, don’t get me wrong, has included some achievement, means I’m a bit too tired for the necessary soul searching I need to ponder. What will this year bring and who do I want to be by the end of it?

As a decade of my life draws to a close, what am I going to look back on at the end and regret with a pain that strips the meat from the bone? Will I wail and gnash my teeth at the seeming loss of young and possibility that has been a little bit squandered under the everyday-ness of life?

Or instead will it be a farewell to the old, not really carefree, days and a welcoming of even greater possibilities with the added touch of maturity and experience? Next year already holds the promise of an exciting and potentially life-changing adventure. I intend to grab that sucker by the balls and squeeze it until it hits a high-high-high F.

This year, 2012, requires preparation, mapping, structure. Like a ship plotting its way across the night seas in heavy fog, each part of the journey is crucial, needs a spot of calculation and giant dollop of courage. And so I’m tempted to say, “Screw you,” to the idea that life ends at 30. Life ends when you’re dead. And until that moment, there’s plenty to be getting on with. Plenty to touch and taste and smell and see and…what’s the fifth one?

There will be plenty more navel gazing ahead. I want to make sure I’m well positioned to have a wonderful life, as my mother told me. And there’ll be time to write. Because I’m going to make it, even if it kills me.

So here’s to being 29. Bring it.