Is There Life After ’30 Before 30′?
*It is important to understand that before typing this post I spent an hour in boxer shorts and a tank-top with my hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun standing on my couch singing the Glee soundtrack into a hairbrush at the top of my lungs
I’d like to be all wise and prolific, able to say that I am *soooo* above imposing beliefs and standards on myself all the time.
But that would be a lie. Which would also be very lame.
Sometimes, usually after that *one too many* glass of wine or a particularly ass-kicking run, I find my mind wandering off into the dangerous territory of “What If?”
Not the great “What If”s like “What if we could find a cure for cancer” or “What if we combined chocolate and peanut butter into a cup-like mold and sold it for less than $.50 in supermarket aisles to people who have been wandering around staring at food for 15 minutes and are desperate for a delicious sugar boost of taste bud terrificness” that lead to revolution and change and a sweet nectar-treat befitting gods.
Instead it is the regretful “What if I had done X differently” or “What if I had stuck with Y” or “What if Z had actually happened”?
The 20′s are a funny little decade. Not knowing much about who we are, what we want out of life, or how to begin to tackle it, we paint little pictures and stories in our minds of the ways that things are supposed to be.
I look back now, and realize that if someone had told my 21-year-old self that this is where we end up, she would have been pissed.
NOT because my life sucks right now.
It just isn’t what I had expected.
I imagined that by the time I got around to 30, I’d be settled. I’d be married and might even have a kid. An established career with a non-profit or activist organization, with a blossoming writing career on the side. Run triathlons and eat only locally grown organic vegetables. Own a house. Drive a respectable 4-door sedan with child seat hooks in the backseat. Have vacationed in Europe and Mexico and a cruise someplace sunny. Host dinner parties and discussing my first novel, which was already a bestseller.
Of course, life has a funny way of not always delivering us what we expect.
I get wistful sometimes. Nostalgic, wondering what life would have been like if I had lived the adventures I set out for at the age of 21.
I know, I know.
Regrets are lame, the past cannot be changed, embrace the present, blah blah blah.
I dole out that same sorry canned advice to people all the time. And it is true. But it doesn’t help the way that we feel.
I can tell that lots of the young professionals of my generation are heading into their late 20′s. I see more goals lists popping up of things we HAVE to accomplish or career aspirations (like “Make first 1-million dollars”) or relationship wishes (like “Anyone who is still single doesn’t really stand a chance”) that have a deadline of age 30.
As if at the age of 30, our carton of milk goes rancid and we have failed at life.
I think goals and dreams are so important.
They give us something to strive for. Heck, I’ve working on my Life/Bucket List all month long! When you shoot for the moon, even if you miss you still end up surrounded by stars, right?
But what happens after we complete our tasks?
Or (even worse) what if we DON’T get them finished by the date/time/age we ‘planned on’?
We only fail when we stop trying.
30 isn’t an end date. Life goes on (I can vouch for at least 11 months of this phenomenon). Contrary to the popular belief of some folks, I have not regressed into Disney-movie-crone spinsterhood to live as a hermit in a basement apartment surrounded by cats and supporting myself by selling Angry Wizard calendars on eBay.
For some, 30 is barely a beginning.
Hell, for some, 50 is where it all gets awesome!
That doesn’t mean we should put life off until then.
Sometimes the deadlines change, and sometimes the goals themselves shift.
But we are never so far along or off that we can’t find a path to our own happiness.
Oh.
And you should never allow yourself to be too old to sing kitschy pop music into a hairbrush.
Photo Credit: Seth Joel
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