When I was thirteen I thought braces were going to change my life.

Before them, there wasn’t enough room in my mouth for my adult molars and baby teeth to coexist. They were in a constant land battle, neither side willing to concede, and as a result I had canines protruding out of my gums at angles that truly defied all logic and crushed any dreams I had at winning the hearts and minds of teenage boys across the nation.

But post-braces, all of that would change. The only thing that stood between me and the life I wanted was 36 months of metal. Or at least that’s what I believed throughout the ulcers and gum lacerations. I believed it through the tiny balls of wax I was falsely promised would prevent the aforementioned ulcers and which I accidentally swallowed (and surely that’s not great?). I believed it through the hours spent in an over-reclined chair while tears streamed into my ears and the sound of electric drills and picking and scraping formed core childhood memories. I even believed it for the nine months I wore head gear to bed. With a strap that went around the back of my neck like I was a horse (a HORSE) and hooked into metal sockets on either side of my jaw, forcefully pulling my teeth back into my skull.

And then the day arrived: My braces were removed. And I hated it. I looked horrific! No, truly. I looked permanently stunned. It was as though my gums were overcompensating for three years in solitary confinement. There was way too much gum! And somehow more teeth? And they felt slimey and overexposed. And my top lip was now permanently curled under. It was a category four disaster.

Approaching your thirties, I’ve found, is a similar experience. It is the culmination of a decade-long dance between hope and disappointment. Only the stakes are a lot higher than good dental work. The stakes are partners and spouses and salaries. Fertility and embryo-transfers and break ups and starting over. And, sure, we could’ve saved ourselves a little disappointment by being more pragmatic from the outset. By accepting that, no, we’re not going to meet the love of our life on the plane. That taxes are inevitable. So is death. And heartbreak. Your life will be messy. Your body will always be your body. It will grow and shrink and change – and change back – but it will never look the way you want it to. Despite therapy, sooner or later we all become our mothers. And speaking of therapy, your children will inherit the traits you’re currently paying a therapist to fix. You can put it off as long as you want but one day you’ll have to wash your hair. And clean out the fridge. Do both now.

But as tempting as it is, you cannot let the myriad of ways life has fallen short of your expectations turn you into a cynic. It’s the easiest path to take, I know. The material’s all there! But we are the worst version of ourselves when we marinate in disappointment for too long. I know I don’t need to tell you this. We become reclusive and cold and closed off. And we are the best versions of ourselves when we’re brimming with hope. When we believe that our best days are ahead of us. When we, as Ellen Bass says, “Love life. Even when you have no stomach for it.”

But if, by chance, you’ve lost your hope, may I recommend attending a childhood friend’s wedding?

A few weeks ago, I watched a friend I went to school with marry the love of her life. And the weather could not have been worse. A storm had been raging all week; there were slips and cancelled ferries and blocked roads. On the day of the ceremony the rain was biblical. We had to wear raincoats over our dresses and risk sprained ankles in stilettos on uneven, muddy gravel and I swear to God there was about an hour where they thought they’d lost the grandmother. And if you’re thinking this all sounds a lot like disappointment well, actually, you’d be wrong!

Because there’s little time for disappointment when you’re huddled shoulder to shoulder in a muggy room alongside your best friends, giggling and marvelling at how you were only sixteen yesterday and yet now you were almost thirty and nothing had changed except for everything and two people you’ve known for over a decade were promising to love each other for a lifetime.

And it felt a lot like hope.

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