So often this is the response that I get when I tell people I’m turning thirty on March 22nd. I get excited every year about my birthday; not because I think I’m the only person in the world born on that day – the laws of simple common sense are against me on that one – but because I personally think it’s important to celebrate ourselves; take a moment (or a week) and do something just for us, surrounded by those we love. And um, parties are fun.
For years I told Steph I wanted a bouncy castle at my 30th birthday. He’s been arguing with me about it saying there’s nowhere to put it, it’ll cost too much, blah blah blah. I’ve always countered that had he started looking into it six years ago when I first mentioned it he would have figured out a solution by now.
With my mum, bouncing as a baby
Being able to “bounce” has really been my only concern about turning 30. It seemed like an appropriate time to get something really weird like my own bouncy castle. My thoughts haven’t been of my 20′s ending, of getting old, getting wrinkly; none of that.
I just want to have fun. I just want to bounce.
Then I start to get hit with it. I update my Facebook status saying that I’m turning 30 in just over a week and the sympathy comments come in. People all around me start telling me not to worry, that their 30′s have been the best time of their lives so far, and I’ll enjoy them. Wait just a second though.
When did I say I was worried? Why is this the natural reaction to someone saying they’re turning 30? Not that I don’t appreciate the care, but I have wonder what it says about our society when the immediate reaction of people is to console someone that’s getting old. I generally live my life very much in the present; just like with that documentary interview that we gave recently. I wasn’t nervous before we went into it but afterward I was suddenly hit with a big “Wooooah. What the hell did we just do?” burst of anxiety.
Maybe that’s what will happen here. Maybe on my first full day of being 30, I’ll suddenly have a crisis. I’ll realized I’m suddenly “old”. That I’m wrinkly. That I can’t go clubbing anymore with the kids without looking like the older woman in the corner.
BIG FAT DEAL. I’m not 30 yet, so I’m not worried about it. In fact, I’ve never been worried about it. I have lived a very colorful life so far. I’m married, own a house, a car, three cats, and I’ve got plenty of time left in life to enjoy myself. I am surrounded by people that love me and I have finally figured out what truly makes me happy in life. Long ago I realized that climbing the corporate ladder isn’t my style so I don’t feel disappointed in myself for not being high up the rungs as of yet. But people are talking to me like I must be worried about it and so I start to wonder … “Should I be? Why ARE they consoling me? Is this really going to suck?”
Talking to a friend last night who is also turning 30 this year and she’s not looking forward to it. So when people say to her, “Oh, don’t worry, turning 30 is great.” it’s only helping her perpetuate the idea that there’s something wrong with it and that she should be sad.
Why do we do this to ourselves as a society? Do we really think that getting older is so bad that we have to console the new recruits whenever their birthdays hit?
I’m not saying I won’t have a little mini freak-out on March 23rd, but it will pass and then I’ll just enjoy myself. There will be good days to come and there will be bad days to come, just like with any other year I’ve had until now.
For the record … I told everyone that I was turning 30 as a *cough* reminder that I like presents.
Duh. 
