Six months from today, I turn 30

scenes from Dutch dreams and the spaces in between

Six months from today, I turn 30.

Am I where I thought I’d be?

Dunno.

Actually, no. I do know.

I am not.

The five-year plan got chucked out the window, like my possessions into a $120 storage unit.

I don’t want to lie. I value honesty too much. Little Jen didn’t even know what she wanted because she was told what to want.

Others told her that by now, a beautiful brownstone house, a hubby, and a blossoming bank account would do. Some babies, too.

One day last summer, I schlepped my existence into Chicago from Hawaii for a family wedding. A distant male relative I last saw a decade ago at a funeral approached me dead on to say, “Well, well, well, it’s Miss Hawaii. Aren’t you almost 30? That’s about time to start rushing back and snap into real life with babies,” while looking down at me through his readers.

Heat climbed up my neck. A desire to say something snappy rose, but instead, no comment. I soft smiled and walked away.

In that moment, my dismissal of others became a new norm. It took me a long time to squirm my out of those handcuffs from the “should” police of how my life should look.

And where has that left me?

Today, I woke up disheveled. My hair an oily mess, my eye mask tattooed a crease into my forehead, and sweat stuck under my knees and inside my elbows. I lay starfished on the bed staring at the slanted ceiling, the cat mewing as if I’m his master. Analysis paralysis set in over where to start my day. Water? My journal? Running? Apply to a job? Wordsmith my CV? Scooping cat litter?

To create friction, I deleted my Netflix account. Gone are the days I pay 169 Thai Baht per month, or five bucks and a gumball.

But last night, I gave in to the lure of a borrowed Disney+ account.

My choice? Hannah Montana.

In the opening scene, chicken skin raced up my forearms. The soundtrack “Best of Both Worlds” hurled me straight back to middle school. The summer days of jumping, dancing, still in a damp bathing suit, thinking life would open up in every direction. Now, here I was at 29. On a stranger’s couch, sniffling at the closing scene singing “The Climb” lyrics: “Every step I’m taking, every move I make feels lost with no direction, my faith is shaking.” This line sent me sobbing with an orangutan face on.

Instead of sleeping, at 12:24 AM I wrote a letter to Hannah Montana. She inspired Little Jen to believe she could have it all. She inspired courage in unmasking the lies as a nobody, as Smiley Miley. I wrote:

“thank you for sharing the shame to weaken it. It looks like it worked. Maybe it can for me too.”

Yesterday, I was walking down the street when the red lights started dinging that the bridge was going up. I didn’t listen. Instead, I put some pep in my step. Then I passed by cute houses after cute houses, each with tall shiny varnished red doors and a cozy reading nook and wiffs of chocolate, and then crunch sounds at a nacho cantina and then a store painted with postcards. I met up with a barista whose concert I attended last weekend. She told me to come on Wednesday, so I kept my word. Then I met another 30-year-old. We chatted up a storm on ex-lovers, astrology, and yoga. We’re both pathfinders. It made me realize: maybe this place is where I want to live longer?

On July 30th, I found myself exploring potential sidequests for August. Then I celebrated a book sale, clicked into my credit card app, and became a deer in headlights. The bottom line stared back. It was 2.5 times higher than my months in Southeast Asia. My palms sweated.

I relearned to play, but at what expense?

Have I gone soft and lost my ambition for more abundant financial possibilities?

Each day unfolds as a concoction of movement, connection, and creation. That is enough for me, but the material world demands more.

To reawaken my hunger for squeezing the pulp out of life, I’m in a season of saying “yes”. Making money hasn’t been a priority for half of the past eight months of 2025. But now, I’m relearning that skill. My sidekick? A list with 11 August goals, like sending daily outreach emails to land 2 clients and running 4 times a week. I’ve made this guide of mistakes to avoid writing online. This coaching page. I share on socials every doggone day, even LinkedIn. If I don’t speak up, no one will. And the goal for daily dance parties with the cat? That’s the streak that is the strongest.

With a backpack full of books, like The Little Mermaid in Dutch and Stephen King’s Memoir, I live with random Dutch people’s cats while they’re on vacation. I’m allergic to cats.

Eight years ago, in my first Dutch dream, I splashed into the Amstel after passing my business finals at the University of Amsterdam.

Today, I debate if the glass jar of peanut butter is worth the weight. White cat hair clings to my fresh laundry and I rezip my packing cubes for the next place.

🙏Shoutouts

• To

  Charlie Becker
  ,
  Charlie Bleecker
  ,
  Rick Lewis
  and
  Steven Foster
  for your guidance on this piece. I appreciated the nudges on why it is I am writing this in the first place

• To Michiel who’s cat and home I absolutely adore.

~~~

I am grateful you chose to fill part of your day here.

If something in this letter resonated, press the ❤️ , leave a comment, reply to this email, or reach me at vermetJL@gmail.com. I love hearing from you.

Keep on learning 😁

Tot snel 🌺 🌺

Toodles :)

Jen

P.S. I coach writers. I guide them to find their voice, build a writing rhythm, and have fun hitting “publish.” Let’s chat.

P.P.S. You’re invited. If a friend forwarded you this, welcome to the learn-it-all crew. Sign up here to get the next letter.

P.P.P.S. I wrote a book. Letters to My Life is my favorite way to share my writing with you (and it keeps your screen-time stats down). Grab your copy here.

Onto the rest of the nuggets for the week, I didn’t forget about those :)

~~~

👋 Greetings from Haarlem in the Netherlands again. That’s a rarity for me to say “again” these days. Now, let’s dive into letter 275 from a learn-it-all. Enjoy!

📜🖋 Poetry Corner

To read the whole poem “In Blackwater woods” by Mary Oliver, written in 1935, go here.

📖 Reading

I read in one of my favorite

Ask Polly

columns recently, Shame Is the Enemy of Joy:

“Shame presents one of the trickiest obstacles to becoming emotionally exuberant and fully alive… Shame whispers… you can’t age and also have a beautiful life, you can’t be poor and also be luminous and unstoppable, you can’t make art if no one knows about it, you can’t experiment and play and laugh and dance if no one approves of how you do it, you can’t feel romance under your skin if you’re not loved unconditionally by one person.”

That whisper is familiar. I’ve heard it when I’ve tapped my credit card at a café for a €6 matcha knowing I needed to sell some bonds to pay for my month’s credit card bill. When I’ve sat in a language café, my tongue fumbling over Dutch like I’m mute and should have mastered something more useful by now.

🎬 Watching

The Last Song.

I’ve been on a Miley Cyrus bender lately. Dancing in the grocery store aisles. Bopping my head in the car to the radio.

“Mom says it's because she has PMS.

Do you even know what that means?

"I'm not a little kid anymore. It means pissed-at- men syndrome”

― Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song

🎧Listening

30 by Frankie Orella

Another fear unlocked
Something to panic over
Wish I could turn it off
Get off the roller coaster

But I can't make it go backwards
Every time I try it only goes faster

Time keeps breaking my heart
Why's it gotta hurt so bad
Used to look to the stars
Now I'm only looking back
How's a number make me anxious
And way too self aware
I'll be 30 on Thursday
And I wish I didn't care

🔍Word to define

Shame: (n) a painful emotion caused by consciousness of guilt, shortcoming, or impropriety

🌟Quote to inspire

"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along. ... You must do the thing you think you cannot do."

voice — Eleanor Roosevelt, Activist and former First Lady of the United States (Source: You Learn by Living )

📸Photos of the Week