On Turning 30

The impression I get from the world is that I'm supposed to have very strong negative feelings about turning 30.  My twenties should represent my youth, my blossoming into adulthood, the time when I am free and doing whatever the hell I want because I'm a grown-up now wooooooooooooo.  Therefore, because apparently all change must be a) comprehensive in every realm and b) bad, the progression from twenties to thirties represents the death of everything fun, youthful, carefree, exciting, and unrestricted.  The thirties, they say, is a time of bleak, hopeless responsibility.  You no longer have options, you have obligations.  Your partner becomes the ol' ball and chain.  Your exciting career is now just an endless string of identical days with no chance of advancement.

Suddenly, things on the "to do list" get removed, not because they've been completed, but because they are considered no longer applicable.  You didn't go to grad school yet?  Looks like that's not going to happen.  Not married or even engaged?  Enjoy your life as a spinster.  Fat and out of shape?  Start buying stock in the Big and Tall store because you have selected this body for the rest of your natural life.  Haven't had kids yet?  Well, I hope you enjoy years of expensive IVF with your poor-quality eggs.

I know this sounds exaggerated, but the societal pressure to "achieve" before 30 is really a bit insane.  As you move through your twenties, you realize that almost all athletes in their prime are younger than you, sometimes by a significant margin.  People you looked up to when you were younger had already done amazing things by the age you are now, and you're still just high-fiving yourself when you pay all your bills on time.  As humans, we feel compelled to compare ourselves to each other.  It's the thing that makes the single person enraged upon seeing engagement photos on Facebook.  Or what makes someone seethe quietly at their younger sibling's party celebrating a big promotion.  We judge ourselves by those around us, often rather unfairly so.  Not only do we ignore the different circumstances that we all face, which fundamentally alter the paths we're on, but we also fail to examine the practice of this comparison at all.  We don't ask Why am I even worried about someone reaching this life milestone before me?  Instead we get jealous, or worried, or self-conscious, or all of the above.

That being said, I've had a helluva run these last couple of years.  I fell in love, bought a condo with this person, put two stupid dogs in that condo, accepted my partner's proposal, and married him.  I earned two degrees in a field I care deeply about, worked for 7 years in one school, then took a new job (for much better pay) at another.  I lost 60-odd pounds, taught myself about nutrition and exercise, deadlifted my own bodyweight, then trained for and ran (shuffled?) a marathon.  Despite my insane anxiety about it, I also learned how to drive (with the help of several patient friends) and finally got my license at age 29.  In fact, I'm in negotiations as we speak to buy my first car, a brand new one at that.  That being said, I'm not a flawless person.  I haven't gone to the gym since starting my new teaching job four months ago, so my weight isn't as low as it was in the spring.  Despite being financially secure and well-paid, I still handle money like a poor person who never expects to have a savings account -- there's no sense in having a rainy day fund if every day is rainy, eh?  My increased workload and lack of free time means that I've been an even worse friend than usual, rarely thinking to initiate social outings or connect with a friend just to see what they've been up to.  In fact, with a birthday party planned for tomorrow evening, I dread having the reality of my poor social engagement reflected in the short list of guests who will be attending.  I can tell myself that it's hard for people to get to these things with all the travel around the holidays (especially teachers who have this whole week off, so they often stay out of town the entire time), but I can't help but think that if I were a better friend to them, they'd make the effort.

I like to think that I have a pretty healthy view of this non-transitory transition into my thirties.  I have a great career I'm passionate about, an awesome husband who got me Star Trek: TNG pajamas for Christmas, two dogs who love me almost as much as they love carrots, a happy and healthy(ish) family who all like each other (more or less), a home that I co-own, friends who are amazing even though I take them for granted sometimes, a body I'm more in tune with and happier with than ever before (and the knowledge, willpower, and skill to shape it how I want), and I'm still pretty good at Rock Band even though I don't get to play as often as I'd like.  I still have a lot of work to do, in both my personal and professional spheres, but I also know that my 30th birthday is neither the beginning nor the end of anything.  It's an arbitrary date, nothing more.  Maybe I'd feel differently if I hadn't done so much with my twenties; it's hard to say.  All I know is that, for the next couple of years anyway, the battle will now move from "by the time you're 30" to "before it's too late to have kids."  You ever notice how, once a woman gets married, it becomes everyone's business when (or whether) she'll begin gestation?  Not sure my wedding invitation also included an invitation to my womb, but apparently it was implied.  The average age of first births to women with college degrees is thirty.  And that's the average, which means half started above that age.  So cool your jets, people.