The last of my close friends turned 30 this weekend. All things considered, she handled it really well. It helped that she arrived prepared, as she always does. She’s been anticipating the milestone for months and has used it as an opportunity to reevaluate her life proactively – family, friends, career, priorities. I respect that a lot. I had a much more reactionary approach, preferring to tumble towards 30 with a mix of dread and denial. Within a week of my 30th birthday, things started to go pretty crazy and the year that followed was, without any hyperbole, the worst of my life.
My optimistic self, the one who eschews superlatives and buys into the whole “change your thoughts, change your life” stuff, wants to say that 30 was a learning experience, full of growth and enlightenment. And that is true – I lost weight, moved out on my own, started traveling alone, learned Italian, grew my business and got into a whole bunch of new hobbies. It was a chance for me to critically reassess my values and relationships, not so much by choice, but by circumstance. That all being said, I do remain the grim reaper of 30th birthday parties. Proceed with caution.
“Thirty was so strange for me. I’ve really had to come to terms with the fact that I am now a walking and talking adult.” -C.S. Lewis.