Alas, as much as I’ve dragged me feet into this new decade of life, here I am.
I still haven’t become comfortable with saying it yet but I’ve been practicing. “I am thirty”.
Thirty, though not feelng, always sounded so old. Thirty means you are no longer in the same age bracket as college athletes, most newlyweds, and those who legally cannot drink. Even at 29, I felt I was able to maintain a feeling of youthfulness just by lumping myself in the category of those in their twenties. But now, “I am thirty”
Those who’ve walked this road before me say that the thirties are the best decade. I wanted to believe them so I looked for reasons to understand why. Surely they weren’t just saying this, in this mysterious manner, only to have something to hold over an anxious head. What is their secret fountain of youth?
Though I can only speculate at this point, I am inclined to believe that the thirties hold a sense if stability over the twenties. After a decade of graduating, starting one of the scariest ventures known as adulthood, attempting to start a career after possibly a few false starts or maybe some in between jobs, purchasing the largest investment of your then life known as a house, getting married, and then following that with a pet or maybe even a kid or two. That makes for a pretty wild ten years.
Perhaps the thirties will be kind enough to let me stay here for a while in this life that has been built for me and just let me enjoy it.