I’m not upset about it. I’m not thrilled about it either, but I’m not seeing it as a source of impending doom.
Here’s the thing. I don’t FEEL thirty. Most days, I find myself realizing that I still feel like the shy, quiet, bookworm from high school. I still get nervous around new people, I still have low self-esteem and don’t think I’m good enough, and I still get anxious at the thought of doing something scary. But I am this old.
If you’d asked me ten years ago what my life would be like now, I would have said I’d be married with two kids, teaching high school band.
Well, 1 out of 3 isn’t bad.
If you’d asked me five years ago what my life would be like now, I would have said writing for a television soap opera, living in Manhattan, still going to gay bars with my male gay friends, and preparing to adopt my daughter from China.
Well, I still go to gay bars with my friends when I go back to NYC to visit them.
I never pictured that I’d be living in the midwest, happily married to the greatest guy in the world. After college, I never expected to get married. I’ve never been ‘pretty’ the way that other girls are pretty, and I’ve always felt self-conscious about myself. That’s why I gave myself a backup plan - I’d find a kick-ass job, and when the biological clock started screaming, I’d go over to China and adopt my daughter.
I may still be going to China to adopt, but this time, it’ll be with my husband.
Five years ago, if you’d shown me my life at 30 as what it is now, I would have been terrified of it. Now…I’m pretty damn happy. I’m happy with my marriage, happy with my job, happy with my life. I may not have kids yet, and I may not be writing for a soap opera, but I have two cute cats that welcome me home every night, and I actually look forward to going to work in the mornings.
And you know, if I look at it that way, 30 isn’t such a bad age after all. I’m kind of looking forward to the rest of the year.
E.