Is 30 The New 20? Christ, I Hope Not

I used to like the idea of “30 is the new 20.” It made aging seem less scary. But that’s when I was younger and more likely to buy into utter bullshit.

I turned 30 today, and while I’m not overjoyed about it, I’m also not as negatively affected by the number change as I thought I’d be. In fact, I’d be devastated if it was true that 30 is the new 20, because my 20s were fucking hard. As much fun as I had, that decade was plagued by status anxiety, confusion, hangovers, repeated mistakes, and lack of funds. And while I wouldn’t change any of it — because, as trite as it sounds, it’s made me who I am today — I wouldn’t want to relive any of it.

What once terrified me about aging is actually what comforts me now. Yeah, I don’t go to concerts that much anymore, but that’s because they’re too loud and my feet and knees hurt by the time the opening bands are done. And I don’t throw house parties anymore, but that’s because I like my area rug too much to risk having stuff spilled on it. And, I don’t drink 40s anymore, but that’s because getting drunk on $3 worth of malt liquor seems to have lost its appeal.

Even though there have been changes (like being kept awake at night by work, taxes, and homeowner’s insurance claims), I’m ultimately the same person, just a hopefully improved version. I’m not as angry, intimidated, foolish, or reckless as before. I’d be lying if I said that the state of my boobs isn’t a concern, but I’ll take some sagging, so long as it comes with some sagaciousness.

If life is a snow globe, then I’m happy to have made it past the part where I’m shaken-up and can barely see through the frenetic flurry of events, and welcome the new phase in which some things are still up in the air, while others are calmly falling into place.

So like I said, I’m not all that affected by 30, but I still care about the numbers on the scale. Hopefully I can look forward to growing out of that by the time I’m 40. Holy shit! I’m going to be 40 one day…if all goes well.