Turning Thirty

It sounds so serious it's not funny. I understand when you turn thirty, people start considering you more seriously as someone who can "lead" with ideas than when you're a few whiskers shy of the year.

Wow.

Thirty.

My accomplishments are nothing home to write about. Were it not for the World Wide Web, I'd probably be -- and am -- another statistic who's just turned thirty, and is even more confused about life.

But apart from all that, I'd have nothing to show for my life.

Or...would I?;-) I've been writing a journal since 1989, when my brother, Sam, was alive and I was only 12.

I haven't stopped since.

All my endeavours since have involved, in some way or another, writing.

I am not a journalist, though I do plan to be one in the next year or so, coupled by the fact that my job description includes journalistic skills.

But I reiterate: I have that chip on the shoulder which makes me feel uncomfortable stating I am one. I want a sheet of paper, or whatever, associating me with journalism. A diploma would be good; a degree, even better.

That's when I will be able to breathe freely.

Before then, it's continuing to blog about my life (reflecting the eccentric world); blogging about Ghana, my country, which I wouldn't trade with any other; blogging about the political scientist in me, by way of my regional integration blog, RegionsWatch; blogging about Accra, by way of pictures, and then some. And finally, reviewing blogs for the Reuters-supported Global Voices Online.

Either way, it all involves writing.

I came across a site, whilst looking for a picture about "being thirty", and it was by an author in the UK, who has written a book about turning thirty.

It's not so much that he's written that book, than about the fact that he's written one at all!!

I've got to get cracking, for a writer, within me, lies.

I just don't know it--and if my thirties will do anything, it will have to extract that talent out like...tonsilitis?

who said turning thirty meant an end to silliness?