Maybe turning 30 just didn't affect me in the apocalyptic way that I thought it might. I pictured myself sitting in my unwashed pajamas for the third day in a row…watching "Major League" over and over again until I finally came up with accurate box scores for each game…my fingers oranged with cheeto dust.
Surprisingly…I don't feel like I'm a heartbeat away from watching marathons of the Weather Channel or doing Tai Chi in the park. The muumuus I bought are neatly tucked away in the sad fat Kerry drawer, and the countless pints of Chunky Monkey are resting in the freezer…untouched.
At the same time, I don't feel like I just sauntered out of a Tony Robbins seminar where I "Awoke the Giant Within" and I'm ready to repurpose my life to dance like no one is watching…or some such nonsense. Note: I only dance when people are watching. Why waste my gift of alcohol-fueled fluid movement on an empty room? People deserve to watch me Harlem Shake.
So, the big 3-0 came and went, but not without reflection. So here is a short synopsis of my feelings on 30…
- I don't see my family enough. I'm going to try to use more of my time off to go home. And when I do see my family…I should hug them more (and I don't mean the quick pat on the back hugs; I should give more of the creepy lingering hugs).
- I finally feel like I might be a runner again. I ran for 30 minutes on my 30th birthday (which is 30 minutes longer than on my 29th birthday…stupid knee).
- I should live in the now. I think/worry about the future too much. I save too much. I should travel more. Volunteer. Learn a language.
- I need to be more grateful. …Excellent family. A husband I don't deserve. Friends who keep me laughing. A great house. A job that people would fist fight me for. There shouldn't be many 'woe is me' moments in my life.
- I've got a great body for a 30 year old. …take that gravity. I'm a woman on the run from the law (the law of gravity, that is).
There you have it. It hasn't been a perfect 30 years, but who wants perfect?