19 days from now, I will be 30. I cannot believe it. People keep telling me its not big deal, that the 30's are better than the 20's and that it makes no difference. But most who know me also know that I have a slight phobia of getting older.
I believe it started the day I turned 10 and my father came into my room, tears in his eyes, saying, "you are not a baby anymore. Double digits now." Yeah. That pretty much did it. I always get depressed the whole month before my birthday and pretty much wish the whole thing would just go away. Thus far, 28 has been the roughest, but I am thinking 30 ought to top it. After all, I can no longer use the youth excuse for my issues. Now I might have to actually figure things out. A frightening thought.
This year, my birthday should be ok, really. I am in one of the happiest parts of my life (despite what you may read sometimes in this blog). I have a baby, a husband, a house in a city I love and a career that is actually making me happier than it ever has before. These are all good things and I would be much happier about them if I could just take age out of the equation. But I can't, dammit. Age is relentless, like the gray hairs that keep creeping into my roots or the wrinkles I swear appear when I smile.
A huge chunk of how I define myself has to do with being young. And now I am not. So what now? Maybe it is just fear, but 30 sounds so old, so mature, so much like that really annoying self-indulgent show ThirtySomething. Ew. I am loathe to be one of them. And yet I can't deny that I am about to become a thirtysomething myself.
With that in mind, I am going to come up with a blogging plan over the next 19 days to somehow commemorate my big birthday. Suggestions are welcome.