If you’re 30 or older you will think the next paragraph is dumb. I do too, but I can’t help it. Apparently I am dumber in my 30’s, but to honest, it kind of snuck up on me. I know the numbers go in order, but I was blatantly unprepared. I am no longer a spontaneous twenty something, I am 30. Have you ever googled 30, I have. None of those people look happy. Actually that’s not true, the guests look happy, probably because they are in their twenties. I am not ready to be 30. I don’t like the smell of anti aging moisturizer. I had this dream of highlighting my hair pink, but I can’t anymore, because I’m 30. No more piling up baskets of laundry and taking them to my mom’s house. No more sleeping till noon. I hate Ann Taylor Loft. No more piercing my belly button, or getting a tramp stamp in the shape of a Chinese symbol that means dangerous. I can no longer use moving back in with my mom as a fall back plan. I have approached this birthday kicking and screaming. As far as I'm concerned they’ll never take me alive. All my friends keep trying to make me feel better. They say 30 is the new 20. Guess what, 30 isn’t the new 20, that’s just what people in their 20’s say when they have to turn 30. I guess the positive thing is I don’t feel 30, but I was talking to my grandfather the other day, and do you know what he said? He said he doesn’t feel 87. It never ends, for the rest of my life I won’t feel my age. At least this is how I felt up until I actually had to turn 30. This is the first birthday that has felt like a physical act. I had to turn 30, it didn’t just freaking do it itself. 30 is rude.
Ok I know you're fed up with my self wallowing right now, but just keep reading, I'm almost done.
It wasn’t until the actual week before that I decided to do something about my crotchety attitude. Everyone was asking, “What are you doing on your birthday?,” and since lying in bed crying over the loss of my twenties seemed more tiring than doing something, (crying is tiring) I decided it might be better to just face it, this was going to happen to me weather I liked it or not, so I might as well make people suffer with me. So to change my attitude, and prevent a full fledged panic attack when someone said happy birthday, I decided to google “coping with turning 30.” Turns out tons of people are just like me. They have no idea what’s happening to them either. It made me feel better to know I wasn’t alone, other people hate this too. I was so confused; I used to love my birthday, it's a known fact, kid’s love birthdays. Free cake, balloons, all the shiny faces, acting stupid, forming clicks, it was what I lived for. So I started thinking about what my kid self thought about 30, and here’s what I came up with. I’m supposed to be rich, it is how I always pictured myself at 30, married with kids, wearing baseball caps and driving carpool. The 8 year old in my head is severely disappointed in this life. In fact she’s freaking pissed. Since last week she’s been screaming “Why the hell don’t we have a Barbie dream life you B?” And I’m wondering that too? Then I realize that while I don’t have a drawstring elevator, I do have it pretty good. I mean people WANT to hang out with me, which, in adult world, means I’m cool. I always wanted to be cool! Ok, so admittedly I am not thrilled to turn 30, but I’m getting there. So here’s the thing, I would still pay a butt load of money to know what I know now and be 25 again, but if I have to be 30, well, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Lesson # 57: Age is just a number.
