Lately I've been having quite a bit of anxiety about turning 30 in a few months. To my surprise, there in the mirror this morning, was this little stand of white reality staring back at me—my very first gray hair. One little invader among my amber-coloured locks substantiating my fears that I'm getting old. I could almost hear it taunting me. What a huge kick to the gonads that was! Is this what they mean when they talk about "the moment" you realize you're not a kid anymore.
Having graduated from university at 28, I got to pretty well avoid being a productive member of society for a lot longer than most and continue to behave as an unruly college-kid (yay, pub crawls). But at 30, people start expecting all sorts of grown up things from you. You're suppose to look and act and dress your age. Whatever, I still maintain that there's nothing uncouth about pretend fart noises.
My boyfriend tells me that there's a huge sense of relief that comes over you once your finally passed the threshold and says he enjoys getting older. When I ask why he says, "you learn to feel comfortable in your own skin and learn more about who you are". I suppose once groundhog day actually passes I'll stop waking up in a panic about the impending dooms-day and whether or not I've done enough with my life and just relax. Although, he also says the plural of moose should be meece, so he might not be the most reliable source.
In any case, I'm off to go make irresponsible decisions while I still can.
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