As of this afternoon, I am entering the last six months of my twenties. Should that freak me out? I mean, I'm never gonna be twentysomething again after next April. Then I'll be thirtysomething and society says that if you're in your thirties and single and whatnot, you're less desireable. Add in the kid and I'm complete damaged goods. And yet I feel oddly at peace with it all. My twenties haven't always been kind to me and it seems like they've lasted for far longer than nine and a half years because of the bad stuff. I think part of me is relieved to be hurtling towards the supposed big 3-0 because I hope it'll be less traumatic than the 2-0 years. Some of my friends are also in their late 20's and they all seem freaked about turning 30. (One hit the big number three days ago and he refused any kind of celebration, as if it doesn't count if he doesn't acknowledge it. Oddly, this is also how my mother deals with her b-day celebrations, she's been "26" for about fifteen years now). More of my friends have already long since passed 30 and they all say it's only as big of a deal as you make it.
What is age anyway? It's a number. You're only as old as you feel, they say and I like that train of thought because I don't usually feel 29. So how old do I feel? That is a good question. On a good day I feel very much like a kid again because I'm happy and things are working themselves out. On a bad day...older than my 29 years I guess. So good day equals like 12 and bad day equals about 40. But I don't think that's a bad thing. There are far fewer bad days than there used to be, which is always a good thing. I did some math today (yes, voluntarily, aren't ya'll proud?) and I will be in my mid-40's when my daughter turns 18. That seems so far away but I know the years are probably gonna fly by.
