I've always secretly admired people who don't broadcast their upcoming birthdays. It's cool, right? The only day that you have to be the boss of everything, and you just don't want it.
I tried to play it cool this year, but since today I am officially thirty for the first time, I've been playing it horrified for a few weeks. I've never been good at keeping my feelings to myself. I'm an over-sharer. I've been single forever, so everyone that is around me on a consistent basis gets to hear how I'm feeling because I don't have someone to go home and boo-hoo or woo-hoo with.
Everyone has been asking me if I'm okay today, because I guess I look like I just a saw a ghost. I did just see a ghost. The ghost of my not-yet-actually-thirty-years-old self, rattling chains and laughing maniacally at single, childless, thirty-year-old me.
My friend, K, has been exploring the concept of accepting that we can't change our past, and I think that's pretty poignant right now for me in this ghost-seeing, hey-you!-don't-eat-all-of-my-cake-because-what-if-I-want-to-have-a-piece-tomorrow mood.
I am trying not be crunchy about all of this. I will be happy for it to be tomorrow, because it's just too much responsibility to have to try to be happy for the sake of other people about myself turning thirty. Also, it's really hard to be thirty with any dignity when you're listening to Fall Out Boy. Seriously, self, that's what's happening? Yes, it is. You'd think I'd ring in this time of contemplation with some Nick Cave or Robert Johnson, because that would be appropriately pretentious, but no.
Excuse me, I have to go be an adult now.
I tried to play it cool this year, but since today I am officially thirty for the first time, I've been playing it horrified for a few weeks. I've never been good at keeping my feelings to myself. I'm an over-sharer. I've been single forever, so everyone that is around me on a consistent basis gets to hear how I'm feeling because I don't have someone to go home and boo-hoo or woo-hoo with.
Everyone has been asking me if I'm okay today, because I guess I look like I just a saw a ghost. I did just see a ghost. The ghost of my not-yet-actually-thirty-years-old self, rattling chains and laughing maniacally at single, childless, thirty-year-old me.
My friend, K, has been exploring the concept of accepting that we can't change our past, and I think that's pretty poignant right now for me in this ghost-seeing, hey-you!-don't-eat-all-of-my-cake-because-what-if-I-want-to-have-a-piece-tomorrow mood.
I am trying not be crunchy about all of this. I will be happy for it to be tomorrow, because it's just too much responsibility to have to try to be happy for the sake of other people about myself turning thirty. Also, it's really hard to be thirty with any dignity when you're listening to Fall Out Boy. Seriously, self, that's what's happening? Yes, it is. You'd think I'd ring in this time of contemplation with some Nick Cave or Robert Johnson, because that would be appropriately pretentious, but no.
Excuse me, I have to go be an adult now.
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