I turn thirty years old tomorrow, and this is my annual birthday post—a tradition I stole borrowed from Buster Benson.

I began this tradition when I turned 20, a decade ago. I regretfully missed a few years in between because I was busy writing other things—which, in retrospect, is appropriate. Formation is not always public.

• 29: Done.
• 26: Waking Up | From Dropping Out of High School with Nothing to Gaining Acceptance at a University for a Creative Writing Program
• 25: The Mystery of My Broken Heart | Realizing the Ugly Truth: Examining a Year and a Half of Life and Its Meaningless Cycle
• 24: Be Noteworthy | An attempt to find peace with who I am.
• 23: Dying Without Seeing You Again | Living on fire without putting yourself out — and cherishing the heat.
• 22: Accepting Good Responsibility | Happiness isn’t the Meaning of Life
• 21: Structure → Chaos | Musings on privacy, disruption and mindfulness.
• 20: Becoming an Adult | Turning Twenty is Weird.

Thirty is interesting. The number is not sacred—for numbers are arbitrary things we use to organize the terror of time. And yet many traditions I know of, across continents and centuries and competing cosmologies, arrived at the same conclusion independently. These traditions don't agree about theology, cosmology, or the nature of God nor the absence of gods. But they agree about this.

To start, most know that Jesus began his ministry work at around this age. As per Luke 3:23 (NKJV)

Now Jesus himself was about thirty years old when he began his ministry. He was the son, so it was thought, of Joseph, the son of Heli.

This is because in Judaism, 30 years old is traditionally considered the age of full maturity, strength, and preparedness for leadership or intense study. In Pirkei Avot 5:21, it is stated as the age of prime of energy, marking a shift from the trial-and-error 20s to a decade of focus and "koach" (strength/potential):

At five years of age the study of Scripture; At ten the study of Mishnah; At thirteen subject to the commandments; At fifteen the study of Talmud; At eighteen the bridal canopy; At twenty for pursuit [of livelihood]; At thirty the peak of strength; At forty wisdom; At fifty able to give counsel; At sixty old age; At seventy fullness of years; At eighty the age of “strength”; At ninety a bent body; At one hundred, as good as dead and gone completely out of the world.

Notice that wisdom comes at forty. Thirty isn't wisdom. Thirty is strength. The capacity to do the work before you fully understand it. In Numbers 4:3 (NKJV)

Count all the men from thirty to fifty years of age who come to serve in the work at the tent of meeting.

Joseph was 30 when he entered the Pharaoh's service, as per Genesis 41:46 (NKJV)

Joseph was thirty years old when he stood before Pharaoh king of Egypt.

David was 30 when he became King of Israel, as per 2 Samuel 5:4 (NKJV)

David was thirty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years.

But this is not exclusive to Judaeo-Christianity at all. Confucius wrote in Analects 2.4:

The Master said, At fifteen I set my mind on learning; by thirty I had found my footing; at forty I was free of perplexities; by fifty I understood the will of Heaven; by sixty I learned to give ear to others; by seventy I could follow my heart’s desires without overstepping the line.

Found his footing. Not enlightened. Not arrived. Stable. Standing upright on the ground for the first time without having to think about it.

In Zoroastrianism of Ancient Iran, the Zoroaster receives his divine revelation at age 30, regarded in the later Avestan/Pahlavi tradition.

Siddhartha Gautama, the founder of Buddhism, left his royal life around age 29, turning away from illusion and began to search for deeper truth and meaning. More broadly, the Instruction of Amenemope of Ancient Egypt (where Proverbs originates from) is divided into 30 chapters. 30 is the full cycle, the lunar month.

I am not Jesus. I'm not David, Joseph, nor am I Confucius in his garden. But I find it hard to dismiss what these traditions are collectively pointing toward. Something in the accumulated wisdom of human experience—encoded across languages and faiths and geographies that never spoke to each other—agrees: this is when the wandering ends. This is when the wilderness years become the work itself.

I spent most of my twenties in what I understand now was formation—though it didn't feel like formation at the time. It felt like failure, and then like nothing at all. When I look back at my birthday post from last year and compare where my life was then to where it is now, the difference is staggering—I was, frankly, depressed and feeling sorry for myself. It seems as though an entire lifetime has occurred between now and then.

Writing Career Plan

Looking back through my bullet journal at around this time, I stumbled upon a spread I created titled "WRITING CAREER PLAN".

I just graduated university with a degree in English, and of course I wanted to write for a living. And, also of course, it was more of a fantasy than an actual plan. At the time I was writing in a private journal on a daily basis, but my public output was far smaller—around a blog post per month. Despite being in Medium's Partnership Program, I was only making a few cents every month and never earned enough to hit the $10 minimum for payout.

But then it quickly became obvious to me that I wouldn't have the energy to figure out any kind of career whatsoever. My anxiety bled into a deep, dark depression in April of last year. For entire weeks I didn't get out of bed, let alone my home. I didn't attend my own convocation. It was spring, then summer, then autumn. Just like that. I was a smooth stone sunk in a running river all around me.

In this, I think about Joseph—how long he was in the pit before anyone pulled him out. His brothers threw him in. He was sold to Potiphar. Falsely accused, imprisoned, forgotten. Down, then sideways, then down again—and then, at thirty years old, Pharaoh. The trajectory is not a clean upward arc. The suffering wasn't the interruption of his formation, it was his formation. You cannot be ready to hold the weight of the whole of Egypt if you have not first been in the pit. The difficulty is not what delayed the purpose, the difficulty is what created it.

For I myself did not give up. I had faith this was hibernation and not death. I realized university burnt me out into ash. You see, I took 16 consecutive semesters. I was enrolled in autumn, winter, spring, summer—four times over. I waited patiently for my mind and body to rest. I got counselling and found a medication, Sertraline Hydrochloride, that worked well for me.

During this time, though, despite how I felt, I kept writing. I abandoned everything else, but I didn't abandon writing. Even on days when I didn't have the energy to eat or take care of myself, I would still journal 750 words with no will for anything else. My writing was my rock, where I would build my church.

This lasted for a while, and by the time October rolled around, I thankfully felt good enough to start thinking about writing as a career again and began writing publicly.

In November, I decided to push myself to complete NaNoWriMo, though with blog posts instead of a novel. In doing so, I successfully wrote 25 blog posts and over 50,000 words. I'm so grateful some of these essays resonated with readers and were boosted by Medium, resulting in thousands of views. By the end of the month, I received my first paycheque from Medium for around $800 Canadian dollars. I realized—holy shit—this is working.

And I just kept going like that. It's the middle of April now, and I've been publishing a 2,000 word essay nearly every day since. That's nearly half a year. That's over 200,000 words.

In the process, I learned about omg.lol and the IndieWeb, and created my own site and solo publication from scratch at Brennan.day. In addition to this, I've enrolled in a second degree, getting a Bachelor of Science and majoring in computer science.

I'm also starting a low-cost online writing school in the summer. I'm calling it Fireweed. In case you don't know the plant, fireweed (Chamerion angustifolium) is the first thing to grow after a forest fire. It colonizes burn zones, adapted to push through ash, to find purchase in devastated ground, to bloom vivid and tall in exactly the places that have been most thoroughly destroyed. I didn't choose that name by accident. University burnt me out into ash. A very dark year kept the ash smouldering. Fireweed is what I am now. Fireweed is what I'm building.

There are so many people I'm grateful for, but especially my family. My Mom, and my stepdad Frank, and my brother Byron. I wouldn't have made it without my family. As I've written before, I am the luckiest person on Earth, and I really mean it.

But I also know I've let down and hurt people in the process. I'm still here if you want to reach out. I love you.

My Ministry

Despite being a rather arbitrary number, leaving my 20's feels as though I no longer have the excuse of young adulthood to point to. And I feel as though this is no coincidence nearly every religion and culture points to this year the same way. David was not born king. Joseph was not born a servant of Pharaoh. Siddhartha could not have understood suffering without first renouncing comfort. 30 keeps showing up as the point where formation ends and function begins. For the wandering is not an obstacle to purpose. The wandering is the preparation—and whatever is built afterward, if it's going to mean anything, has to be built on the rock that survived it.

My ministry is writing. It has always been writing. I just spent a decade and then a very dark year learning the wilderness years were not wasted. I was being formed. The koach was accumulating, whether I could feel it or not, until it was ready to move.

Confucius didn't say he had arrived at thirty. He said he had found his footing. That's where I am. For I'm not wise yet, I certainly haven't figured it out. But I'm earning my keep. I'm standing on the ground, and the ground is solid, and I know what I'm here to do.

Formation ends, function starts. I’m ready to begin.

P.S. If you’d like to give me a gift and you’re still on Facebook, I’m holding a fundraiser for the Métis Child, Family and Community Services (MCFCS) in Winnipeg: www.facebook.com/donate/2055636428501845/1334627505254816/

I’m Red River Métis, and the question of how our communities care for our own children — on our own terms, in our own way — is one I hold personally. MCFCS operates from a simple principle: Métis families and communities have both the right and the responsibility to raise Métis children. Their work is about keeping families together, not tearing them apart. That matters in ways that go beyond policy.

Earlier this year, the Manitoba Métis Federation had to publicly correct misinformation about a provincial funding announcement. The government claimed $11.4 million was going to Métis agencies. The actual figure was $2.4 million — just enough to give workers raises from their 2017 salaries. Prevention staff were still facing layoffs.

This is an agency doing generational work on a shoestring. Anything you give goes directly toward that work — culturally grounded family supports, youth transitions, community care.