Full disclosure: I hate being 30.
I know it's just 30 and you hear all sorts of cliches about the joys of turning 30, but I think most of them are BS.
"30 is the new 20." No it's not. 30 is 30. 30 is 10 more than 20. 30 and 20 have very little in common except they are both divisible by 10...and 5...and 2. Ok, that's three things, but none of them make me feel younger.
"Life begins at 30." No it doesn't. Life begins at birth. Or if you're a Super Pro Lifer, it begins at conception. At any rate, it doesn't begin at 30. You can't abort your child as long as they aren't 30. That's murder. And murder is illegal.
"30 is when you get to start really enjoying being an adult." What does that even mean? All the fun adult stuff starts at 18 or 21. I feel like the 30 adult stuff is a mortgage, car payment, receding hairline (more there later), and an expanding waistline. Why did I have to wait 9 years to enjoy adulthood? And now that I did, I have the sneaking suspicion that the only reason someone is now telling me I get to start enjoying it is because this is precisely the moment that I realize I would like to be 21 again.
I could go on, but suffice it to say, turning 30 is a little like that moment when you wake up and realize you've slept through your alarm clock. One minute you're cozy and half asleep, like the bear on the Sleepy Time Celestial Seasonings tea box, the next minute you're in a complete state of wide awake panic because you're never going to make it to work on time. It's like that, but with more expletives.
Why, you ask? Well, at a time when all of my friends are married, about to get married, having kids, buying houses, taking fabulous vacations with their fabulous significant others, and generally loving being loved, stable, and secure, I'm single (again), childless (as far as I know), renting a room from my buddy, and still planning for my financial future. I can hear your objections now:
"You have plenty of time."
"Don't be in a hurry."
"All of those things will eventually happen for you."
"You're still young! 30 is the new 20!" We've covered this one. See above.
Here's the deal, I'm not in a hurry. Clearly. If a relationship is not right, it's not right. No way am I going to wind up 60, brow beaten, and miserable because I married the wrong person. Nor do I want any hypothetical kids of mine to get some fucked up sense of what a marriage is supposed to be like by watching mommy drag daddy around by the balls or vice versa...except without the balls part...although that would certainly confuse my hypothetical kids. Not doing that. The real issue here is that the people I still have a lot in common with are in their mid 20s. I'm not afraid of winding up childless and alone, but as my same age friends check out of the single, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants club, I'm afraid of winding up the creepy older guy who doesn't quite fit in with the 20s crowd.
It wouldn't be so bad, but it seems like my beard and hair decided to turn gray at exactly the same moment. That moment? 30. Oh, and for added giggles, my hair decided to abandon my scalp in a way that leaves a tiny island on the crown of my forehead. My hairline is like the last stand of the 300 Spartans of Thermopylae. A few brave follicles are holding the pass while my forehead advances in a classic Rommel style pincer movement. I'd punch a baby for a full head of hair. Kidding. Well, maybe not. I guess it depends on the baby. I mean, if life doesn't start until 30...
Also, my left knee is becoming progressively wonkier. It used to be that running and riding the bike and playing soccer could be counted on to make me feel young and free and happy. Now I'm losing a step and having a little bit of difficulty keeping up with the younger players. Just standing in the kitchen making dinner, one of the decidedly adult things I actually do, causes my knee to swell up. Who gets hurt making dinner? 30 year olds. Oh, and when I do suck it up and play soccer I feel like I got the shit beaten out of me the morning after...and the morning after that.
A buddy of mine at work (he's 25...fucker) gave me crap about wearing a v-neck t-shirt the other day. Apparently, I'm too old. Too old for a v-neck?!? These kids today!
I accept that age cannot be reversed and I'd never go so far as to dye my hair or call Hair Club For Men (side note: are those not the creepiest commercials on TV?) or roid it up to try and reverse muscle and joint deterioration. I would stoop to Cialis though. Why lie? I just don't want to be the awkward older guy hanging out with the kids. No one likes that guy. Not even that guy likes that guy.
Here's to hoping 30 sits easier with me as the year goes on. It'd better. Next year I'll be 31.