$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

Here’s to 30, flirty, and (lowkey) thriving. 

My younger sister turns 30 this weekend.

Last year, on her 29th birthday hike, I told her to spend her final year of her 20s “doing it for the plot.”

That’s what my 20s had felt like—one big, unpredictable storyline. There were sudden twists, new settings, surprising characters. I lived in cities and small towns, befriended bartenders and made more than a few wrong turns—literally and metaphorically. I moved South to become a teacher without a teaching degree, got tattoos, went on good dates and terrible ones. I changed jobs, explored new careers, got into debt, and slowly, painfully, dug my way out. I faced trauma and started healing.

The plot of my 20s wouldn’t make for a great book—not because it wasn’t interesting, but because it lacked structure. The character development was messy. The pacing was chaotic. It wouldn’t pass a beta read. But it was real. And the memories? Absolutely priceless.

My sister’s story has been steadier. She’s the logical one. The cautious to my chaotic. So when I encouraged her to “do it for the plot,” it was less about chasing chaos and more about giving herself permission to live, not just plan.

Now, as she steps into her 30s, I find myself thinking about how I entered mine.

When I turned 30, I was ready. I had spent the final stretch of my 20s crawling out of burnout and financial instability. I’d paid off my debt, re-grounded myself, and was starting to feel solid again. Friends and Instagram posts promised me that the 30s would be better—that I’d feel more confident, more rooted, more myself.

And they were right.

Turning 30 felt like stepping into a new chapter with clearer direction and better lighting. My finances were in order, my personal life was steady, and my career had momentum. I even wrote about it when a friend turned 30—how we strut into this new decade with strength.

But now, at 31 and change, I’ve realized something I didn’t expect: growth doesn’t stop being hard.

Your 30s don’t magically make you “fully baked.” You’re not done learning or stumbling just because you crossed a milestone. In fact, sometimes the growth in this decade feels even more tender—because now, we feel like we should have it together. Like being grounded means never wavering. Like progress should feel polished.

But here’s the truth I’m holding onto:
You can be thriving and still feel uncertain.
You can be doing well and still be learning.
You can be standing on solid ground and still be figuring out your next steps.

So this weekend, as my sister steps into her 30s, I’m not wishing her perfection. I’m not wishing her a neatly tied plot.

I’m wishing her what I’m learning to wish for myself:
To embrace the quiet, meaningful mess of lowkey thriving.

It’s not a humblebrag. It’s not a highlight reel.
Lowkey thriving is trying something new and sucking at it until you don’t.
It’s leaving something that no longer fits—even if it’s still comfortable.
It’s staying when it’s hard but worth it.
It’s resting without guilt.

It’s the in-between.
Between where you were and where you’re headed.
And it’s enough.

So here’s to another decade of the plot unfolding—messy, meaningful, and ours.

As always, thank you for having coffee with me.
Until next week—take care, and keep (lowkey) thriving,

Everett