I know that I am supposed to be really bothered by the fact that I am going to be turning 30 in a month, but really, I have good days and bad days about it.
I woke up this morning, and I realized one reason why it isn't a super big deal is because I don't think of myself as 30. Hell, not even 29 or 28. My "Matrix" mind (that self-residual in your mind of what you look like, what you act like) thinks of myself as 25. Skinny. (Moderately skinny.) Funny. Fun-loving. Hot. And 25.
Now, why 25, I have no idea. My twenty-fifth year of existence wasn't particularly exciting or thrilling. I was in grad school, and English professors do a pretty good job of sucking your will to live on a fairly regular basis, so I wasn't living the high life or anything.
But when people ask me how old I am, I usually have to stop and think, "Twenty-five. No. that's not right. How old am I again? Oh, that's right, 29. Almost 30." But not because I feel like lying or that "I will be 25 from now on, until I turn 35. Then I will be 30." Nothing like that. I just don't think of myself as 30.
To me, being 30 is being a mature adult. With bills, and a husband, and kids. You know, respectable. But I am none of those things. Yes, I have bills, but I also can go do whatever I want, when I want. I can go out to the Outback and eat $35 worth of food and not feel bad and wonder if I am going to get into trouble when I get home. I can come home at 2:30 in the morning, and no one is waiting up for me, wondering where the hell I have been. I can go to the movies when I want. And to whichever movie I want to see. There are no compromises in my movie-going experience, something that a respectable, mature adult would have to contend with. I don't have to worry about anything like that. So, in my mind, no worries equates to still being in college, and still being a fun-loving single. A 25-year-old single.
(But then I have a bad day, and I realize that I am almost 30, and still single, and alone. And that, my dear reader, is a really bad day.)