As much as I loved my 20s and am certainly enjoying my 30s, a big part of me is also looking forward to my 40s, my 50s, my 60s and beyond. Truthfully, I can already picture it. Summers spent visiting my friends in their different cities around the world, driving around in a classic convertible that I've maintained by hand myself, living in a remote (but modest) villa somewhere tucked away under the Tuscan sun. I'll be the eccentric former New Yorker, scarf thrown over my windblown hair with a corgi or two at my side and my love in the passenger seat. We'll make art, write stories and maybe even try our hand at wine making. I'd work to live intentionally, but I won't live to work irrationally. Maybe I'll own a little bookstore in the nearby village. Maybe I'll close early on Mondays and walk over to the piazza, where I'll sit with a bottle of something local. Maybe a dear friend from a previous chapter of my life will sit down with me and we'll chat for hours about what once was. And maybe in that moment in the sunshine with my old friend, I'll smile, thinking about all the wonderful things yet to come.
Don't get me wrong, by no means am I in a hurry to get to these future chapters of my life, but I do think it's high time we start romanticizing the art of aging and seeing it for the gift that it truly is. After all, dreams are wonderful, necessary even, in our youth. But please, whatever you do, don't let them stop there.