tipping our hats to our twenties
Perhaps it was the young man who waited on us, or the barely legal hostess who seated us but the other day at lunch hour with the girls from work, we found ourselves swapping ages. A coworker told us she was celebrating her birthday this weekend. When asked her age, her response of “23″ didn’t cause a blinking eye. A glimmer of a lie crossed her face and one of the otherscalled her out on it. Ashamed, she grimaced “Ok, I’m turning 30…” As it turns out she’s been telling people she was 23 since she was 18. While the other girls teased her, I wondered, if she actually looks 23, what’s the big deal?
I’m already in my sixth month of my foray into my third decade and so far nothing monumental has occurred except for my metabolism taking a sudden nose dive, but I kissed that one goodbye in my twenties. But one thing I have noticed now since my age turned over, my friends and other women around me are endlessly making not-so-hopeful observations about turning the dreaded age of 30. So what is behind this peculiar behaviour?
My personal fear of the Big Three-Oh came from not following through on some personal goals I had set for myself. When I compare myself to my friends and family, I haven’t quite caught up: I’m still not married, I don’t own a home and I’m not a mother. This doesn’t bother me so much as I’m with a great guy and a wedding is in the future. I don’t necessarily want to be a homeowner just yet, as the idea of working abroad appeals to me, and while I adore kids I’m not convinced motherhood is in my cards. I’ve always been a little different from my friends; I threw on a backpack almost the day after high school graduation and travelled to Asia, Europe and the UK. I didn’t know what I wanted to do so it seemed a bit redundant to be wasting my time and money on classes. World exposure did me some good and eventually I came back to do all my schooling while everyone else was settling down and starting families. But I do have one regret: I promised myself upon returning home from a trip that I would go back to Scotland with a work visa some day while I was single and still in my twenties. I never did do it, and while nothing is stopping me now (even my guy is a willing participant), it was the excitement of being young and single and doing my own thing that appealed to me. I hadn’t put it off, but truthfully I had been so busy with school and work and life’s curveballs that time sort of snuck up on me and suddenly I was no longer single and my twenties were gone.
I have a fantastic photographer friend, the type of girl you love to hate but can’t hate her because you love her so much. I had never once questioned her age (didn’t your Mama teach you it was rude to ask?) but I had decided from the beginning that she was at least a good 6 years older than me. By no means does she look older, but she carries herself with such poise and confidence and self-assuredness, combined with her extensive travel sojourns—she’s the world’s ‘World Traveller’— I chalked it up to experience and age. I nearly fell over myself when I was recently invited to her 30th birthday celebration. I was hit with small pangs of jealousy—here she was, a beautiful, successful, single woman living life to its fullest as I had meant to. Even though she is just as guilty of referring to her new age as dirty thirty, she doesn’t cower under her bedcovers. If anything she’s more excited now for her future than she was last decade. Even though I’m six months ahead of her, I will look to her for cues on how to best enjoy what others tell me is supposed to be the best time of my life.
While the girls at the table comment openly about how cute the waiter is as he stands refilling our water glasses—I’ve heard this overconfident maneater trait is a side effect of our 30′s—I think about what the coming years will bring. I’m in an industry that seems suited for someone just like myself and that tells me I’m where I should be. I’ll just have to get over this feeling that my youth is slipping away and use selective hearing when my boyfriend teases me about being a cradle-robber (4 years difference hurts a little sometimes); and I’ll make another promise to myself to pursue my goals, but not be so hard on myself if it doesn’t happen. Besides, I’ll officially hit Cougar status in 10 years and I’ve heard that’s when life really gets interesting.
Meow.
