Chapter 30: The Life I Fought to Live

Thirty years. A thousand memories. More versions of myself than I can count. And somehow, every single one of them brought me here.

On September 10, I turn 30.

Even writing that feels surreal.

Thirty.

For some people, a birthday is simply another trip around the sun. A celebration. Cake. Pictures. Friends. Maybe a few jokes about getting older.

For me, this birthday means something more.

Turning 30 means I made it.

And I don't say that because my life has gone according to plan.

Quite the opposite.

I say it because there were chapters of my story when reaching this moment wasn't something I could take for granted.

So before I celebrate where I'm going, I want to honor where I've been.

My Story Started With a Fight

I wasn't supposed to be born in September.

I was supposed to arrive in December.

Instead, I entered this world prematurely and spent the beginning of my life in the NICU.

Before I understood dreams, careers, heartbreak, friendship, success, failure, or purpose, my life had already begun with a fight.

I was tiny.

I had health challenges.

There were doctors, appointments, concerns, and obstacles.

As I grew older, there were other challenges too. ADHD meant learning how to navigate a world that didn't always understand how my mind worked.

For years, some of the things that made me different felt like things I needed to overcome or hide.

At 30, I see them differently.

That little premature baby wasn't weak.

He was fighting.

And apparently, fighting for the life ahead of me has been part of my story from the very beginning.

To the Little Boy I Used to Be

I've spent a lot of time recently looking through old photographs.

And there's one thing I keep noticing.

My smile.

It's there in so many of them.

Little TJ had absolutely no idea what was coming.

He didn't know where he would live.

He didn't know what career he would choose.

He didn't know the places he would travel.

He didn't know the people he would meet.

He didn't know how many times life would require him to start over.

He just knew how to dream.

If I could sit beside that little boy today, I think I'd tell him:

You don't have to have everything figured out.

There will be people who misunderstand you.

Some will underestimate you.

Some will love only the version of you that makes them comfortable.

Some people you thought would be there forever won't make it to every chapter.

Don't let any of that convince you that something is wrong with you.

You are not too much.

You are not difficult to love.

You are not behind.

You are becoming.

The Plans Changed

If you had asked younger me what my life would look like at 30, I'm not sure this is the answer I would have given you.

My journey has taken me through classrooms, photography studios, airports, cruise terminals, stages, theaters, ships, and cities around the world.

I've been an educator.

I've built a photography business.

I've picked up a microphone and discovered how much I love creating experiences for people.

I've worked at sea.

I've watched sunsets from the middle of the ocean.

I've walked through places that younger TJ only knew from pictures.

I've met people from countries I once had to find on a map.

I've had coworkers become family.

I've watched strangers become friends.

I've packed suitcases, unpacked them, and somehow packed them again.

I've said hello.

I've said goodbye.

And I've learned that sometimes home isn't a place.

Sometimes home is a collection of people and memories scattered around the world.

The Chapters Nobody Sees

Social media is good at showing the highlight reel.

The smiles.

The uniforms.

The destinations.

The accomplishments.

The beautiful pictures.

But thirty years of life cannot be reduced to a highlight reel.

There have been chapters that hurt.

There have been disappointments I never expected.

There have been relationships that changed.

Doors that closed.

Moments when I questioned myself.

Moments when I wondered where I belonged.

Moments when life became heavier than the smile I was wearing.

There were seasons when simply continuing was an accomplishment.

And that's why this birthday feels different.

I'm not celebrating a perfect life.

I'm celebrating a life that continued.

I Have Been Many Versions of Me

The premature baby.

The little boy with the huge smile.

The kid trying to understand why he felt different.

The teenager trying to figure himself out.

The student.

The first-time employee.

The educator.

The photographer.

The entrepreneur.

The entertainer.

The host.

The traveler.

The crew member.

The leader.

The friend.

The dreamer.

The survivor.

And now…

The man turning 30.

For a long time, I thought growth meant leaving old versions of yourself behind.

I don't believe that anymore.

I carry all of them with me.

The child who dreamed taught me imagination.

The teenager who struggled taught me endurance.

The educator taught me service.

The photographer taught me to notice moments.

The entertainer taught me the power of joy.

Travel taught me how big the world is.

The difficult chapters taught me how strong I can be.

And the people I've met along the way taught me that some of life's greatest gifts arrive without warning.

Every version mattered.

Every version contributed something.

Every version of me brought me here.

What Thirty Means to Me

I used to think turning 30 meant I was supposed to have everything figured out.

Career.

Relationships.

Money.

Home.

Future.

Life.

Some imaginary checklist that tells you whether you're doing adulthood correctly.

I don't believe that anymore either.

Thirty isn't a deadline.

It's a checkpoint.

I don't have every answer.

I'm still learning.

Still healing.

Still dreaming.

Still changing.

Still figuring things out.

But I know myself better now.

I know what deserves my energy.

I know that protecting my peace doesn't make me selfish.

I know that everybody doesn't deserve permanent access to me.

I know that changing direction isn't failure.

I know that starting again isn't starting from nothing—you carry everything you've learned with you.

I know that accomplishments mean very little if you lose yourself chasing them.

And I know that life is far too unpredictable to spend it constantly waiting for permission to live.

So Chapter 30 is about something different.

Peace over pressure.

Purpose over popularity.

Alignment over approval.

Growth over comfort.

Truth over performance.

To the People Who Helped Me Get Here

Nobody reaches a milestone like this alone.

To my mother: thank you for believing in my future before I was old enough to understand that I had one. From the premature baby who needed you to the grown man still chasing enormous dreams, your love has been part of every chapter.

To my family: thank you for the prayers, sacrifices, encouragement, and love.

To my friends—especially the ones who somehow crossed the line from friend to family—thank you for laughing with me, checking on me, celebrating with me, listening to me, and loving me through different versions of myself.

To my former students: you probably don't realize how much you taught me while I was supposed to be teaching you.

To my photography clients: thank you for trusting me with memories that mattered.

To my coworkers and ship family: thank you for turning unfamiliar places into home.

To every guest I've made laugh, helped, danced with, hosted, spoken with, or simply listened to: thank you for reminding me why connecting with people matters so much to me.

To every mentor who saw something in me before I fully saw it myself: thank you.

And even to the people who didn't stay…

Thank you.

Some people taught me through their presence.

Others taught me through their absence.

Both mattered.

Dear Little TJ

If somehow this message could travel backward thirty years, there is one person I would want to receive it.

That little boy in the old photographs.

So, Little TJ…

You don't know me yet.

But I'm you.

We made it.

You're going to see oceans.

You're going to travel the world.

You're going to stand on stages.

You're going to teach.

You're going to create.

You're going to take thousands of photographs.

You're going to hold microphones.

You're going to meet people from everywhere.

You're going to laugh until your stomach hurts.

You're going to cry too.

You're going to lose people.

You're going to find people.

You're going to have moments when you don't recognize yourself.

And then you're going to find yourself again.

There will be moments when the darkness tries to convince you that there isn't anything waiting on the other side.

Please stay.

There are oceans you haven't seen yet.

There are cities you haven't walked through.

There are people you haven't met.

There are memories you haven't created.

There are versions of yourself you haven't had the chance to become.

Thirty-year-old me exists because you kept going.

Thank you.

I'm Still Becoming

This isn't the part where I tell you that I finally became everything I ever wanted to be.

Because I haven't.

There are still dreams on the list.

There are still places I want to see.

There are still rooms I want to walk into.

There are still microphones I want to hold.

There are still stories I want to tell.

There are still people I haven't met yet who may become incredibly important to my story.

There is still so much life ahead.

And maybe that's the greatest gift of turning 30.

I no longer feel like I need to rush toward some imaginary finish line.

I'm learning to appreciate becoming.

Because maybe life isn't about finally arriving at the perfect version of yourself.

Maybe it's about having the courage to keep meeting yourself again and again.

Chapter 30

So here's to thirty.

Here's to the baby who arrived three months early.

Here's to the little boy with the enormous smile.

Here's to every awkward phase.

Every classroom.

Every photograph.

Every microphone.

Every ship.

Every flight.

Every country.

Every sunset.

Every friendship.

Every goodbye.

Every mistake.

Every lesson.

Every closed door.

Every unexpected opportunity.

Every restart.

Every dream.

Every scar.

Every memory.

Every version of me.

I don't know exactly what Chapter 30 is going to bring.

For once, I'm okay with that.

Because there was a time when I couldn't imagine the future.

Now?

I can't wait to see it.

Thirty years ago, a tiny premature baby entered this world earlier than expected and started fighting.

He never stopped.

But today, I don't want to spend the next thirty years simply fighting to survive.

I want to live.

Fully.

Boldly.

Honestly.

Joyfully.

I made it to thirty.

And somehow, I feel like we're just getting started.

Welcome to Chapter 30.

The Life I Fought to Live.

The mic may drop, but the memories last forever.

— TJ Mitchell