I had a teenager in our home last week. She just got her drivers license and we were talking about busy summers and growing up. Somewhere in reference to all that, she said: “well, you’re in your thirties.. right?” This is the first time in my life that I recall someone thinking that I’m older than I am. Thirties?? Not only am I NOT in my thirties… I have a phobia of reaching thirty. It was a rough day. I know if you’re reading this and over the age of thirty you’re probably chuckling or thinking I’m dramatic, but let me explain my thought process on this:
– Most days I have to remind myself that I’m not sixteen. I don’t want to be sixteen again (for sure), but I don’t know where the last twelve years went. I’m married, have two kids, and am driving a minivan around town. How am I mistaken for being thirty?
– The years of being thirty hold little appeal to me. When I think of people in their thirties I picture young parents with three or four children running around. They look tired. They don’t vacation. They drink diet soda. They are strapped financially. They don’t look young or old – they look like they’re in their thirties.
– I’ve been convinced that if I have to get older I’d rather skip the thirties and move into the forties. In the forties we won’t be in the middle of parenting young children (keeping my fingers crossed on that one). In my forties I might be sleeping closer to seven hours a night. In my forties I most likely will return to the corporate world of working full-time which means a vacation should be a realistic option in our yearly budget.
Am I making any sense?
I’m not in my thirties YET. I’m close. Until then and when the blessed day arrives…. I’m hoping to personally paint a slightly different picture of the thirties. How? I’m not exactly sure yet. 🙂