I was beyond terrified of turning 30. I would say I was a tad more hyper sensitive to turning the big 3.0 than the regular Jane Bloggs. Nightmares, night sweats, and minor panic episodes – all internal though you know, wouldn’t want people to actually know I’m such a drama queen.
In my family, I would say I was the “Peter Pan” of the group. Not immature as such, but a reluctance to accept the inevitable onslaught of my impending old age and then death. Wow, that got pretty melancholic pretty fast…you see my problem? Why can’t we stay young forever?
In my 20’s I was footloose and fancy free.
Now that I’ve hit my 30’s, I still want to be footloose and fancy free, but it seems other people don’t want me to be.
Daily conversations now go like this;
“So where’s the ring?”
“Are you engaged yet?”
“What about Mick down the road? Oh no actually, he’s married now. Hmmmm, we’ll find someone for you soon.”
“You’re not getting any younger.”
“What about a house?”
“You know you’re throwing money down the drain renting, don’t you?”
“It’ll be difficult enough to get a mortgage with your career plan…”
“Any plans to start a family?”
“Your cousin has three kids now and has never been happier.”
“You would want to start soon, I read this article recently that women turning 30 with no children will probably end up spinsters their entire lives. And die alone. And have their faces eaten by their cats. True story.”
And this isn’t unique to me and my life. Not at all. Myself and my friends recently went out for our Christmas brunch and spent a huge portion of the day discussing the most ridiculous things we’re asked on a daily basis. All because we’ve hit our 30’s. It went from 29 – friends, festivals, fun – to 30 – marriages, mortgages and mammy plans.
Raise your hand if you’ve ever been personally victimized by intrusive and personal questions about your life and body plans?
Hey Auntie Sinead, perhaps I’ve decided that having children isn’t for me, but no I don’t want to discuss my non-aching womb at Granny’s 90th in fear she may have a heart attack.
Or Uncle Fintan, perhaps the reason I “still don’t have a sparkler” is because my partner and I have decided that we would rather spend our money on a decadent, delicious and duuurty weekend away. Aha that would go down great at the family Christmas party.
I thought the worst part about heading into my 30’s was the attack of wrinkles, not being ID’d anymore (aha…) or suddenly sprouting a full head of grey hairs (still have yet to spot one so yippee for me).
What I’ve actually realised is that I’m absolutely OK with getting older. For the moment I can kinda-sorta pass for someone in their 20’s. And I can still pull an all-nighter out of the bag…like twice a year or so. What’s really bugging me is the intrusion of people into my life choices. The constant questions and smart remarks.
You know what? I’ve got a plan, but it doesn’t mean I have to share it with everybody. For now, let me live my life, make my own mistakes, and love where I am. Sure keep up to date with my Facebook feed, as any self-respecting Millennial will be putting their important life news there first.