Turning 21 & 25 wasn’t that big a deal to me.
30 went by pretty easy.
I try and make it a point not to get worked up about my age. But I’m going to turn 36 next month and this year it’s seems to be getting to me.
If I’m lucky (or unlucky, depending on my mood), I’ll make it to 70. So I’m half-way there. I was hoping, by this point, to make it much further with my life than I have. Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis.
What about you? Did you have a hard time with a certain age?
I don’t know if “bothered” is the right word, but 37 was as close to a traumatic birthday as I had. I think it was the realization that I was, in fact, and adult. By that time, I’d been married 7 years, had a daughter, a house, a car, a boat - all adult stuff, ya know, but that age it seemed to be a slight shock that my youth was behind me.
I didn’t get all depressed or anything. Neither 40 nor 50 bothered me. I’m pretty satisfied with myself at this stage of my life. But 37 opened my eyes. It was a strange feeling.
Hitting 45. I realized that I didn’t have as much time left as I thought, and a lot left undone. And holy hell, the time between 35 and 45 went by fast!
33 was the first time I felt old, because I remembered when my dad turned 33, and thought “wow, that’s how old I’ll be in the year TWO-THOUSAND!!!”
25 - I was a quarter-century old!
Now, turning 30 (later this year) doesn’t seem to bother me one bit. Presumably 50 will be traumatic again.
None of my specific years has been hard, but it was during my 25th year that I began to be aware of my age and the fact that time was going by.
Never a problem. I’m happy to see every birthday. It’s much better than not seeing one…
Turning 30 hit me like a ton of bricks. When I turned 30 and was still single, I felt as if I had officially become an Old Maid. My mom finally stopped asking me when I was going to find someone and settle down. My friends stopped fixing me up with people that they thought would be just right for me. It was as if I had reached the magical age of permanent unmarriedness.
Two years later, I met Mr. Right, married him, and have had 25 great years as a married lady.
30 didn’t bother me, but that last day of 29 was a killer…
One. I kept crapping my pants.
For me, it was 20, because it meant I was no longer a teenager.
While some people may not have enjoyed their teenage years (myself included), I thought of it this way: If you read in the paper that a 19 year-old does something stupid, the brain’s reaction is generally along the lines of “ok, it’s a teenager being stupid.” When a 20 year-old does the SAME THING, the reaction changes to “Why doesn’t s/he grow up already?”
25 hit me pretty hard too. In the back of my mind, I always had a list going of things I would accomplish before turning 25. Visit Europe, go to Mardi Gras, buy a house, etc… and then when I turned 25 I realized that I had actually accomplished about 1/3 of the things on my list.
Oh well, I’m only 26, I got time left.
Turning twenty-two was not pleasant. Twenty-one had not been a good year and it just seemed to continue the trend. On the plus side, I enrolled in college before I turned twenty-three and life has gotten better for me every year. Nothing like getting up off my butt and taking action to make my luck change for the better, I’ve always found.
I hated turning 13. I don’t know why, but I just did. My relatives made such a big deal with me becoming a teenager, but that year, I just hated it. My family was in shambles, my friends were all screwed up and I hated my school at the time. That year for me was such a disaster.
And I’m not all that thrilled with the upcoming 43, but what’s a girl to do?
I hated my 19th, but mostly for reasons unrelated to my age.
Frankly, I hate my birthday. To be more specific, I hate the date. In elementary school, it made weekend parties a pain because it was always near Mother’s Day. In high school, no one cared. Now in university, I have people who care, but I’m hundreds of miles away from half of them when my birthday comes around, and the rest don’t have independant transportation.
It also felt like it should be a big thing because I was finally of age–alcohol! (legally now). One friend did try to plan a trip to Dooly’s or a bar for my birthday, but we couldn’t go–well, not unless I drove, and that would ruin the point. So I didn’t get my hopes up and didn’t plan anything, so I didn’t get let down like in years past…but I feel like I missed something important.
Uh oh, I better get all my stupidity in while I still can–I turn 20 soon!
I was suprised by how depressed I was by turning 30. As someone else mentioned, it is the still being single, still being in school, not yet having a real job, knowing I’ll need to start job hunting soon, etc.
And making it worse is the fact that my little brother is doing is doing the grown up things, has a wife, a kid (and another on the way), a house, the job of his dreams, etc. And his wife, younger yet, is a stay at home mom living the life I’d dreamed I’d have.
30 – for the opposite reason. “30” means kid, dog, car, house, respectible job – and that’s exactly where I was. How boring! how predictable! how… 30.
Not many years later I walked away from it all (kid was grown), went back to grad school, met my true love, and started a whole new life.
Turns out “30” was a beginning after all!
16 and 17 were bad because it’s nowhere near as cool look 25 when you 16 as it is when you 15. Same feeling at 17. Also it’s not as weird to be in uni already when your 17 as it is when your 15. The more I ‘grow up’ the more normal I seem to people.