A Groundhog Day Baby

As the seconds and minutes of February 1st tick away, I edge ever closer to that threshold to the “wrong side of 30,” which I cross at midnight. February 2nd is my birthday, and I will be 36. Closer to 40 than 20.

“Honey, time marches on and eventually you realize it is marchin’ across your face.”

Ten years ago, when faced with a similar, though younger, reality, I was really upset.  There I was, closer to my 30s than my teens, my finger slipping ever father from the pulse of coolness.  I had a college degree, yet no discernible use to which I had put that degree. I was again living with my parents.  I was losing the good parts of youth without getting the benefits of age.

This time, it’s been different. Maybe I still wouldn’t call myself the model of adulthood (I am old enough to make jokes about not wanting to be that), but I like myself so much more now than when I was younger.  I have loved my 30s – I’ve been abroad almost every year since this decade started, and that’s how it should be.

To commemorate this event, and to reflect on the wonderful years of life, I watched a few episodes of the original Beverly Hills, 90210, of which I was a big fan in junior high, as were most of my cohorts. It was… Thank you, God, I have both far superior options to 90210 as well as far superior taste. That is another bonus to my 30s.

Finally, while I’m uncomfortable with the idea that I can say things like, “I have known so and so for over 20 years!” (Like my Cohiba, who I met when I was 14), I do like that I can comment on things I don’t like and say, “I have hated this for 20 years!” (Green Day, I”m looking at you)  because that makes me something of an expert.

I guess that’s the last good thing about my 30s, someone every elder person says – wisdom.

Okay, your turn.

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