Maybe that seems young to you.
Or maybe it seems old like a dinosaur.
Whatever.
I’ve enjoyed periods of self-reflection before most of my milestone birthdays… probably because I’m an introvert. I tend towards existential quandaries.
But 30 seems different.
At 14, 16, 18, 21, I was just wildly excited. You know, the way you’re excited for Christmas. I figured something big and amazing was coming because of this age I was turning. Somehow I would wake up that morning and suddenly be more mature, have extra privileges. And of course, I did incur some of those extras when I turned those ages… but also they were a bit of a disappointment. My life wasn’t much different when I woke up those ages. I still yearned for another milestone.
At 25, I thought I’d really made it. I could finally rent a car. I was convinced that when I was 25, others would be able to see the adult in me. I look young for my age, and have felt (as many do in my generation, I think, more on that later) that I wasn’t taken seriously as an adult. I had been married for several years already, graduated college, had a full-time career, was expecting my first child. But I felt like that number, 25, would signify that I was truly a “big girl” and people would take me more seriously. Value my opinions. Stop trying to help me and tell me what to do.
The thing is, once you’re in your 20s, nobody asks your age. They might still think you look young for your age, but they’re not going to ask. Adults don’t ask other adults how old they are. So nobody ever asked, I never got to use that cool new number “25” that I thought sounded so mature, and nobody treated me as more of an adult.
Essentially, 25 was a big letdown.
Here I am, almost a decade of marriage and 2 kids later. Almost 30. And this year, everything will be different.
Because I’m not anticipating anything.
I’m not waiting for other people to treat me like an adult.
I’m not hoping someone asks my age rather than assuming I’m 17.
I’m not looking forward to the maturity I will gain, or the new experiences I can have, or the extra dose of privileges afforded me.
I am already content.
The big difference here is that I don’t mind if people assume I’m a teenager.
I don’t need to proclaim my age to feel validated.
My worth as an adult is not defined by how strangers (or even acquaintances… even family!) treat me.
I’m sure I will encounter the same patronizing that I did in my 20s. I’m fairly certain it’s inescapable for my peers and I (again, more on that later) but that’s alright. People can’t help their natures.
The difference as my 30s approach is that I know that I’m an adult. I know how hard I work at having my life together, raising my kids, keeping my home, and helping others. I have my own standards for adulthood, and I’m meeting them. My life is organized around my own priorities, and the only validation I’m looking for is from my immediate family.
I’m not waiting for 30 like a momentous occasion, after which some kind of amazing changes will happen for me.
I’m welcoming 30 like an old friend. I’m already comfortable in my own skin, and with my own life. I have absolutely no qualms about being 30 (I do not feel at all “old” or like I’m missing out on some kind of crazy fun that my 20s supposedly should have been full of.) I feel like my 30s, as a range of numbers, will finally be accurate to describe me. Maybe I don’t look my age, yet, but inside I know that 30 is how I feel.
Accomplished. In control. Content, settled, level-headed, confident. Caffeinated, to be sure, but not in a panicked frenzy chasing after someone else’s version of “grown up.”