Today is my last day as a twenty-something. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about that. I guess it doesn’t matter. Whether I am ready for it or not, the sun will rise tomorrow and I will be thirty.
It’s better than the alternative, right? Turning thirty is better than not turning thirty. If I really think about it, age is really just a human construct anyway. Yes, our bodies get older, but the number is essentially meaningless. Thirty has no more significance than twenty-seven or thirty-one. I know better than to get caught up in marketing. My best friend has already left her twenties behind, as has my PH. It wasn’t a big deal for either of them. And yet…
In last year’s pre-birthday post I talked about how for the first time, I finally felt like an grown up. Even though my furniture still doesn’t match and I still wear jeans with holes in the knees. This isn’t always true. Feelings of adulthood come and go. Oddly enough, I think Shiva’s presence made the largest impact on my maturity levels. I can’t just run off to the mall on a aprés-work shopping spree any more. When one is responsible for a very demanding living creature, one’s priorities are forced to change.
Of course, this doesn’t stop me from wanting to indulge in a good tantrum every once in a while. Which is fine. I can’t be all trimmed hair and getting my taxes done before the deadline all the time, right? Like one of my favourite bloggers recently said “show me a person who doesn’t still feel about fifteen in their own head and I’ll show you a person I probably wouldn’t want to have a beer with”.
For the record, I didn’t send in my taxes until July last year. Does this mean my adult membership card is revoked?
So… Thirty. Yeah. Everyone keeps telling me how much the next decade is going to rock, how being in your twenties is sucky and awful and now that I’m older I know myself so much better and things are just going to slide into place. I’m not so sure I believe these people. If you’ve read this blog at all you’ll now I’m not really a sliding into place kind of gal.
The only thing I am sure of is that the third decade of my life, especially the last few years of it, was a heck of a lot better than the first two. Not that being in my twenties was super magical party times but it beat being a teenager. I remember on my eighteenth birthday I was in despair because I wanted to be seventeen forever. Thankfully that particular wish didn’t come true. To totally rip off Margaret Atwood, the only people who think childhood is wonderful are the ones who have blocked out the memories. I’m thinking if I keep on this same trend, being in my thirties might be better than being in my twenties.
I guess I’m gonna find out.