there's no such thing as a timeline
no, seriously
When I turned 30—well, 31—I wrote an essay about turning 30. I remember wanting to share the things I had learned, the things you should know, and definitely not stress about. Like, yes, you're going to get a chin hair. Yes, you'll probably gain weight faster. Yes, you’ll scroll your Facebook feed (because back then it was just Facebook, not Instagram or TikTok) and feel like everyone else is moving forward, doing the things, and meanwhile you might feel just… stuck.
But I also wrote about how the best part about being 30 was feeling more confident. That you could speak up for yourself. Be better with money. Better in bed. Do what you want and not care as much about what anyone else thinks. Not feel like you had to follow a timeline just because your friends were getting married or having babies ](because, according to society, that’s the timeline, right?).
I said: it doesn’t really matter what everyone else is doing. Because you are allowed to be on your own timeline. This is how I finished the essay:
There’s a reason why I got “do you.” tattooed on my left arm last May (I included the period in the tat because, to have left it unstated, seemed to welcome all sorts of awkward connotations). I had quit my full-time editorial job without a back-up plan and, thus, received a lot of backlash from other people who didn’t understand my decision. Why on earth would I give up benefits, vacation time and a parking spot? They asked.
To the outside world, I was supposedly “living the adult dream” when, really, I wasn’t. I was miserable. The thing about turning 30 is that time really becomes of the essence. And, no, I don’t mean that aforementioned pesky biological clock. What I mean is, I came to the point where I had to look at myself in the mirror and ask: is this where I want to be in my life? Is this who I want to be? Am I on the right path to where and who I want to be, professionally and personally? When I couldn’t answer yes to ANY of those questions, I knew what I had to do: I quit my job and began this freelancing life, while pursuing my passion of writing for TV and film. I did me. And it was the best decision I ever made.
Looking back, I’m proud of 31 year-old me. I mean, I was right — even if I hadn’t figured out nearly as much as I thought that I did (ahh to have the over confidence of someone with a young metabolism and no idea how bad chin hairs could actually get).
I did freelance for over ten years! But I didn’t pursue my screenwriting dreams in the way I thought I would—writing for TV and film had quietly slipped to the side as I dipped a toe in and out of that world, throwing myself more fully into freelance writing. And honestly? I’m proud of the bylines I racked up. I’m proud of the brand I built for myself—because it led to my first agent, to publishing my first two books, to building a creative career that’s mine.
And then, in my 40s, I went to a film and TV screenwriting retreat in France—something 31-year-old me probably would’ve added to a mood board but not actually booked. And yet, afterwards, I ended up writing a book proposal for a collection of essays instead, and now I’m submitting my first rom-com novel. Plot twist!
So did I fail my 30-year-old self? Did I let her down?
I don’t think so.
I think I lived the life I needed to live, in the way I needed to live it, in the time I needed to live it. And maybe that’s what honouring your timeline really looks like.
The beauty of aging—and yes, there is beauty in it (I really think I need to write an essay on aging and beauty, please let me know if you agree!)—is knowing that every year can be different. Every year can bring a new chapter, a new adventure, a new heartbreak, a new healing. And every year can change you. It should change you.
And yeah, the chin hairs? Still here, and worse. I swear there’s a new one every week. The metabolism? Let’s just say I can’t eat a bag of chips and bounce back like I used to. Not that you should eat a bag of chips because of the saturated fats! But also still true?
There is no timeline.
At the end of that original essay, I think I wrote something like, “Maybe we’ll all have it figured out by 40.” LOL. Uh, no, we won’t. And that’s okay. Because what does “figured out” even mean? What does that look like?
Because I think the point isn’t to have everything figured out. The point is to stop thinking you should. The point is that there’s no such thing as a timeline.
I’ve had to rebuild my life more than once. I moved across the country to live with my parents in Prince Edward Island when I was 35. That’s the age when people typically “settle down,” have a second kid, buy a house, according to the timelines out there. Me? I was living in a tiny room without a door in a cabin by the ocean. No privacy—shout out to the quiet vibrator under my pillow—but it ended up being the most healing six months of my life. For me. For my relationship with my parents. I never would’ve predicted it, and I wouldn’t trade it.
Then at 38, I moved to Vancouver. In the middle of the pandemic. To a city I barely knew. I didn’t know a single person. And I wouldn’t meet anyone for a long time because of lockdown. I was 38, 39, 40—apparently big years, especially as a woman. My eggs were on the verge of drying up (or so we are told). I was in my sexual prime. My face still had more collagen! And yet there I was: no dating, no sex, no “thriving single years” montage (except of course the TikToks I created with my new kitten). But those years? They were also the best years of my life. I built a life on my own terms. I created a community. I lived alone for the first time. I was alone more than I had ever been in my life—and I healed more than I ever thought possible.
I didn’t have a partner. I didn’t have a kid. I didn’t own a home. But I had me.
Now I’m 42. And I’m dating—actually dating properly for the first time in my life. No situationships. No games. I also wrote my debut novel. And I also took a part-time serving job. Something I hadn’t done since my twenties. I never thought I’d go back to it, but I needed it for my mental health, my social life, for financial reasons. People might judge it. Let them. That says more about them than it does about me.
Because I’m not on their timeline. I’m on mine.
As I wait for book news. As I get to know this new guy. As I watch my career ebb and flow—I’m still living. I’m still creating. And I’m not tying any of it to a specific age or deadline. I’m not going to feel like shit for not “arriving” somewhere by a certain age.
And actually? I’m not waiting at all. I’m being. (Thank you Eckhart Tolle and his book, “The Power of Now”, which is a must-read by the way.)
The past year, especially, has been one of the most transformative of my life. Last summer, I wrote about loving yourself a little more. And that’s because of a lot of me was stripped bare. I had lost a lot of what I thought I needed—security, stability, a fat bank account. The things we associate with success and adulthood. And, of course, I freaked out. I felt shame. I felt like a failure. But over time, as I did more healing, as I spent time with myself and the things and people I loved, I realized the real question was: by whose standards did I fail? Society’s? Mine? Or someone else’s?
What I’ve come to understand is that the life I want—the one that actually feels like mine—isn’t built around boxes to check or milestones to hit. It’s built on values. It’s built on relationships, especially, and most importantly, the one I have with myself. It’s built on creativity, community, slowness, integrity, alignment.
Over the last year I’ve had to learn how to communicate better—with friends, with romantic partners, with myself. I’ve learned to align my actions and thoughts with my values. I figured out what my values actually were! And I’ve learned that I’d rather have that than any timeline milestone. At 42, I’m just now figuring this out. And no, I’m not late. I’m right on time.
I have to remind myself: the things that really matter to me—those are the things worth prioritizing. And I think, ultimately, that’s what we’re all here to do. To remember who we are. To reconnect with our true selves. To love. To love ourselves, our people, our chosen families, our communities, and whatever version of the divine feels true for us.
So no. There’s no such thing as a timeline.
You’re not going to have it all figured out by 30, or 40, or 50. And honestly? That’s the point.
And if you're in the middle of a freakout—which, believe me, I’ve had plenty—you’re not broken. You’re human. But the more I focus on who I am, how I treat myself, and what kind of life I want to create, the more it all starts to make sense. The more my life starts to feel like mine.
And guess what? I’m happier too. I’m happier without some of the things I thought I needed by this age. Go figure.
So maybe those things you thought you wanted? Maybe you never really wanted them. And the things you do want? Maybe they’re on their way. Maybe they’re just not for right now.
And that’s okay.
Because it’s not about timing.
It’s about trusting.
It’s about creating a life that’s real and true to you.
And that kind of life? It’s always, always right on time.
Thanks for being here!
Love, Brie xoxo
