I'm supposed to have freaked out about turning 30. I didn't. Still, on my birthday, as everyone wished me well, I found myself asserting all too often how great I felt about getting older. Doth I protest too much?
Maybe. But not because I was trying to convince myself. I think it was because I couldn't shake this feeling that nobody was going to believe me. If I had a husband and a baby--those certain marks tradition says I should have hit by now--it might be more possible to imagine I could embrace my age.
The truth is, though, I'm actually quite thankful I got to live the entirety of my 20s on my own terms. I made a lot of mistakes in my 20s. And they were really fun. I embraced irresponsibility to its fullest, and I didn't cut it one day short. I loved being 22, but it's not something that's worth a second go-round.
What's strange, if anything, about turning 30 is that it happens at all. Even five years ago it seems ridiculously far off. Yes, youth fades, but it's not so regrettable if you're doing it right. Besides, Jay-Z told me 30's the new 20 anyway.
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