About a month ago, my last real birthday occurred.
It was great. I went out with friends one night. I had a wonderful time jamming out to my favorite Swedish folk band in Philly feeling young and fun with my sister. My mom made me a fantastic cake that was round and looked like the world. #whatagem And I got a new Keurig. Life was great.
credit: Youtube
But I must admit, when the clock struck 12 , I suddenly went into an internal tailspin (for reference, read my other whine-y post here) realizing that this was my last "acceptable" birthday. By "acceptable", I mean that after this birthday, there is no cushion; no way to blame stupid mistakes on age. Not that I make stupid mistakes (FYI), but I always felt that in your 20s you could just smile, bat your eyes, and say,"I'm just a 20-something trying to live my best life", if things ever went awry.
At 30.... I feel like batting your eyes no longer works. You're a real, full-fledged adult, and nothing can help you.
Talk about dramatic.
But it's true. And it doesn't help that pop culture and Party City paint 30 as some end-of-the-road / over-the-hill kind of age.
It becomes a huuuuuuge birthday to overcome and usually makes the participant feel like an old pancake or something soggy.
[Cut to my year-before-my-thirds-life-crisis (worse than a quarter life crisis, better than a mid-life crisis)]
So, the other day my work friends and I were lightly pondering the idea of going on another trip next November to Europe over the course of 4 days. Again, it would involve an 11 pm flight overseas on Wednesday, only to return that Sunday at 9 pm, with work on Monday in addition to our annual "meetings week" beginning on Tuesday.
It took me less than .05 seconds to declare:
Yeah... if the plane tickets are less than $450, the answer is always going to be yes.
...whether I am a year from 30 or 30 years old, I am not a soggy pancake.
I am going to keep on keepin' on
and travel.
skål xx