I have been twenty-nine for between 10 and 11 months. I have thoroughly enjoyed this age, as I feel like my chronological number is finally catching up to my life place and I can still joke about not getting things or wanting to deal with hard facts “until I’m in my thirties”. In fact, I could still describe myself as a “twentysomething” but I don’t because that would be gross.
I have been thinking about turning thirty for at least three years–and not in a foreboding or even a nostalgic way–I like a good milestone and I appreciate this opportunity to enter a new decade. In some ways I get to decide what I want the next ten (or twenty or forty) years to be, but in many, many other ways my life is set on a path at this point and I carry much more certainty into this decade than and previous.
I know sometimes there is a joke about Generation Y (but probably all generations as their third decade sunsets?) that we’ve wasted our twenties. I know full well I haven’t, and that is one of the reasons I’m also looking forward to tying this space up with a neat little bow and moving on. When I went back to grad school I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment that I could finish that before thirty. There are a few other things I’d add to that list also (ahem, tummy tuck). I can’t imagine a more complex, transformative, productive and overall jam-packed era than my past ten years. But that is for a post to come.
For the moment I’m focused on enjoying post-grad school life and the last few weekends of summer, settling back into my job, and getting into the best shape possible to kick this next decade off right. And I’m feeling a bit more reflective than my norm.