Today I am 30.
This isn’t supposed to be as bad as it used to be. Now it’s “Dirty 30” and “30 Is The New 20”.
Cacophony, I say!
Those are just products of my own dear Generation Y that has been so coddled and sheltered, the You-Can-Do-Anything Generation, that we actually believe we can cheat mortality.
Today I am 30. The real 30, not the pretend 30 that’s been dressed up in sparkles and glitter and Brittney Spears and still dances on bars.
For the most part, I’m okay with this thanks to last Friday night, when I drank until I barfed up any last wishes of clinging to my 20s. I’m okay with not partying. I want to go to bed by 10 on weekends and not stay out past 9 on work nights.
I wrote once, at age 22 or so, that I hated when people referred to the college years as the best times of your life. I was exhausted by the craziness and emotional instability the people forget about when they look back on those days. Lucky for me, I have a blog which details my extremes in utterly embarrassing detail.
Around that same time, I read an article in Cosmo called something like “30 Things to Accomplish by 30”. I’m pretty sure I have accomplished none of those things, although I can’t remember all of them. I do know that one of them was to discover your personal style, which has been a gigantic fail. Unless jeans, tshirts, hoodies, and Converse counts as personal style (and I’m sure there are 12 year boys who would argue it does). There were also items like developing a killer resume (bahahahaha!) and conquering dating demons (seriously, stop making me laugh).
The way I look at it is, my 20s were spent being insane and not doing the things you’re supposed to do in your 20s. My 30s will be spent being insane, but in an enlightened, wizened way, so that when I turn 40 I can enjoy the fruits of my spoils.
Or freak out about THAT birthday and drink until I throw up again.
Either way, it ought to be a good time!