Thirty – the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair. -F. Scott Fitzgerald
Good-hearted people are consoling me ahead of my 30th birthday. Quite truthfully there have been the panicked moments in the dark hours just before sleep takes over. With all the hatred of 30 running around, I likely wouldn’t be sane if those moments didn’t attack me.
Seriously, I think someone over at BuzzFeed must be turning 30 soon. The site has a tag “Insecurthirty.“And, just this week they had this video:
HelloGiggles wants you to remind you that exactly 11 people in history have “made it” after they turn 30.
And, HuffPost has an entire page of posts that analyze the trauma of 30.
This lady makes 32 pretty much sound like getting your teeth pulled one-by-one.
Write those places off as pop-culture drivel, but and you’re still left with the honorable TED Talk that laments those who have put off adulthood until their 30s and have nothing “nothing to show for their 20s.”
If you measure life they way Meg Jay does, I’m on the low end of accomplishments. I wouldn’t have anyone to list for that “in case of emergency” blank if not for my parents . But, luckily I don’t have an address book, either. (Isn’t that what an Amazon account is for?) I don’t have a house to hang the porch swing I inherited, but I have friends to turn to when it starts storming. A career? I kicked that to the curb a few years ago in pursuit of passion.
Instead of ticking off those big life achievements in my 20s, I had adventures. I moved twice to places where I knew no one. I’ve got a trail of good friends as a result, and I know I’m in the process of making more. I explored life geographically and culturally. I challenged myself to do new things. I worked hard to become the person I wanted to be instead of the person the world saw me as. I conquered my 20s.
So, bug off 30 haters. I’m going to take this decade on like gangbusters.