I don’t really feel 30, unless I’m on Tumblr and run across a post asking what Y2K was, or a song released when I was in high-school gets played on the Classic Rock station. Then I feel like an ancient monster from the depths of time. But mostly I still feel like the same little girl who believes in magic and fairies and silver linings and the best of people. Perhaps I’m a little calmer and wiser and more in control of my feelings and actions. I’m far more sure of myself and who I am and what I want (though still frequently visited by anxiety, yay, on those fronts). I’m certainly more empathetic and aware of the people around me and their needs. But I can’t control my own bedtime to save my life, so there’s that!
Anyway. It’s weird being 30 the same way it was weird being married, because it wasn’t weird at all. I don’t feel the slightest bit different, just mildly surprised at the passage of time. But I’m still me, still toiling along my path in life, and I have no particular feeling of impending doom or my life draining away. I don’t exactly feel like I’ve accomplished as much as I wanted to, but I also don’t feel like I need to run around frantically trying to correct that before my next birthday.
Despite 30 being the age when the “old” jokes start to get directed your way, I still refer to people of my parents’ generation as “the adults” so really, I’ve got ages to go before I’m really old. But maybe in the coming years the fact that I’m an adult will really start to sink in. However, given that marriage and a kid hasn’t managed that yet, I’m not holding my breath.
Thirty was so strange for me. I’ve really had to come to terms the fact that I am now a walking and talking adult.
~C. S. Lewis