I have just entered the last few weeks of living in my twenties. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been more tuned into it, or if it’s that freaky way all your devices stalk your life and read your mind, but everywhere I look are articles and blogs about turning the big 3-OH. There seem to be a few different takes on the matter. But they all seem to have the same cynical edge; I’m about to turn 30 and and I haven’t met The One. I’m nearly 30 and I haven’t chosen my career path. It’s my 30th next week and I haven’t reached any of my goals. I’m having a turning-30-identity-crisis. I’m already 30 and I don’t have kids. I’m only 30 and I do have kids. I’m 30 and I’m expected to have kids but I don’t want kids. I’m 30 and I still suck my thumb.I keep remembering that Friends episode (Probably called The one where they all turn 30). They were all so depressed! Monica drank herself into oblivion, Ross bought himself a mid-life-crisis sports car, and Joey just wept. At the time, probably as a twelvish year old myself, it all seemed fair enough. 30 was oooooooold!! Who wouldn’t be crying at the prospect!? But now I think about how they lived in those beautiful Manhattan apartments, worked at Bloomingdales, starred in Days of Our Lives, and still had the time to sit and drink endless coffees. They should’ve been laughing at all the other 30 year old plebs with nothing but a pretzel and a metro pass to their name.
I understand that it feels like a big deal, because it does to me right now. Wow, 30! Such a round number! But where I think many people see as a time where they must lament the loss of their twenties, I see it more of a way of gaining some kind of special new badge. I’ve survived another decade, and now have ten years of twenty-something memories etched in my mind. Ten years of learning what makes me feel and look good (and 10 years of refining my wardrobe), of knowing how to deal with difficult situations and relationship problems, of meeting wonderful and interesting people, of discovering how I really love to spend my time. I know myself so much better now, and I’m so much more ready to take on the next ten.
It’s a shame that this birthday seems to be so terrifying for people, a time where one 29 year old compares themselves to all the other 29 year olds. Why does it matter what everyone else has been up to thus far? We’re western humans I guess, it’s what we seem to do. And I’d be lying if I said there weren’t certain things I thought I’d have sussed by this point. But reality bites, not everything works out exactly as you imagine and you’ve just gotta suck it up. I’m not about to jump on the misery bandwagon. I’m gonna focus on the stuff I have got, It’s 30 not 90, we’re only at the beginning!
Society seems to think that you’re only allowed to have fun in your twenties, and then things suddenly get all serious. I’ve already had serious times before actually hitting doomsday thirty. And when I do it doesn’t mean I’m about to stop drinking cheap wine and start collecting stuffed owls. Nothing in my daily life will change from being twenty something to thirty something, and nothing will stop me having optimum amounts of fun when I want it. I’m excited about all the new wisdom and knowledge that I’m convinced I’ll be struck with at midnight on October 22nd though. Not to mention the celebrations! And I’m gonna get my hair did. New decade, new do. Bring it on.