For a long time, I associated learning with formal education. There was a course to follow, a teacher deciding what came next, assignments to complete, and a qualification waiting at the end. Learning had a structure created by somebody else, and success meant keeping up with the timetable you had been given.
But the older I become, the more interested I am in a different kind of education: the one I create for myself.
There are subjects I want to understand because they speak to the woman I am becoming. There are skills I want to develop because they would make my life richer, more creative, or more meaningful. There are ideas I want to explore simply because they have caught my attention, and I refuse to let go.
None of them requires me to enrol at a university or wait for somebody else to decide that I am ready. I can choose what I want to learn, how deeply I want to explore it, and what place it will hold in my life.
This is why I have begun creating my own personal curriculum and, within it, completing a 30-by-30 every month: thirty minutes a day for thirty days, devoted to something I genuinely want to learn.
Becoming the Author of My Own Education
A personal curriculum is exactly what it sounds like: a self-directed plan for learning about the subjects that matter to you. Unlike a traditional curriculum, it does not have to follow an institution’s timetable, lead to a qualification, or satisfy somebody else’s definition of useful.
It begins with curiosity.
I describe personal learning as something that can start with a question rather than a rigid goal. Instead of beginning with pressure to master a subject or produce a particular outcome, we can begin by asking what we are curious about, what we want to understand, and where that question might lead us. She also suggests moving through flexible phases rather than imposing stressful deadlines, allowing the learning to deepen naturally over time.
I love this approach because it gives learning room to breathe. It allows us to follow unexpected interests, change direction, and spend more time with the parts that fascinate us. We are not sitting an examination at the end. We do not have to prove that our curiosity was productive enough to deserve our time.
That feels especially important in midlife.
By this stage, many women have spent decades learning what they needed to know for their careers, families, relationships, and responsibilities. We have learned how to keep things running, solve problems, care for other people, and adapt when life changes without asking for our permission.
A personal curriculum invites us to ask a more intimate question: What do I want to learn now, for me?
Curiosity Does Not Need to Justify Itself
As adults, we often feel that everything we do must have a practical purpose. A new skill should increase our income, improve our health, grow our business, or lead to something measurable. Even our interests can become projects that need outcomes, deadlines, and evidence of progress.
But curiosity does not always arrive with a business plan.
Sometimes, we want to learn about art because a painting moved us. We want to understand Ayurveda because its view of the body and seasons feels meaningful. We want to study philosophy because a particular question has stayed with us. We want to practise watercolour painting, learn a language, deepen our knowledge of yoga, explore photography, or read about a period in history because something within us has quietly come alive.
That aliveness is reason enough.
A personal curriculum does not have to be impressive. It does not need to look academic, and it does not have to make sense to anyone else. It can include books, podcasts, documentaries, online classes, essays, conversations, creative experiments, and visits to places connected with the subject.
It can also change as we change.
Allard encourages allowing curiosity to deviate from the original plan. A new book may open a different door, one question may lead to another, or we may discover that the subject we thought we wanted to study is only the entrance to something deeper. That flexibility is not a failure to follow the curriculum. It is one of the greatest freedoms of designing our own.
Why I Am Choosing 30 Minutes for 30 Days
The challenge with self-directed learning is rarely a lack of interest. It is making room for that interest within an already full life.
We buy the book but leave it unopened. We save the course and promise to begin once things quiet down. We collect podcasts, articles, and ideas, but the learning remains something we intend to do rather than something we are actually doing.
This is where my monthly 30-by-30 comes in.
The concept is simple: choose one area of focus and spend thirty minutes on it every day for thirty days. Sahil Bloom describes the 30-for-30 approach as a way to build a skill, habit, or area of knowledge through a commitment that is substantial enough to create progress but small enough not to feel overwhelming. Thirty days requires genuine intention, while thirty minutes makes beginning feel manageable.
Over thirty days, those short sessions add up to 900 minutes of focused attention. That is fifteen hours spent learning, practising, reading, creating, or exploring something that may otherwise have remained on a someday list.
Fifteen hours may not make me an expert, but that is not the point. It is enough time to move beyond casual interest. It is enough to build familiarity, create momentum, and discover whether I want to continue.
Most importantly, it transforms learning from an intention into a lived practice.
One Month, One Meaningful Focus
Each month, I choose something I want to learn and give it my attention for thirty minutes a day. I am not trying to study everything at once, because I know how quickly enthusiasm can become overwhelming when I turn every interest into an immediate priority.
Instead, one subject gets to come forward.
For thirty days, I enter its world. I might read, watch lessons, take notes, practise a skill, or reflect on how the ideas connect with my own life. Some days may feel profound, while others may simply involve showing up and completing the thirty minutes. Both matter.
This is not about racing through information or adding another demanding routine to my life. It is about creating a small daily appointment with curiosity.
The container is disciplined, but what happens within it can remain spacious.
I can follow a structured programme if one supports me, or I can create my own path using books, essays, and resources I have gathered. I can keep a learning journal, write down the questions that arise, and notice how my understanding changes as the month progresses.
Documenting those discoveries can make learning more transformative. A journal does not need to contain polished notes or detailed summaries of everything we consume. It can simply hold the ideas that stayed with us, questions we want to explore, points of confusion, personal connections, and moments when our understanding began to shift.
The purpose is not to create more homework. It is to notice what the learning is doing within me.
Rediscovering Slow Growth (This Time From the Inside Out)
There was a time in my life when I believed faster was better. Faster results. Faster progress. Faster proof that I was on the right path. If I’m honest, I thought speed meant certainty. That if I could just get there quickly enough, I’d finally feel settled inside myself.
Learning That Becomes Part of My Life
There is a difference between collecting information and allowing knowledge to shape us. We can read countless books without changing the way we think. We can complete courses without applying what we have learned. We can highlight beautiful passages, save useful advice, and feel temporarily inspired, only to return to our previous habits a few days later.
