May 4, 2016


Today is the last day of my 30s. It's finally happened. Somehow, somewhere between climbing trees and being an exchange student and arguing about Homer and running a Boy Scout camp and getting married and getting a Masters degree and having a kid and receiving an arthritis diagnosis and getting stung by bees... I've become a full-fledged adult.

Holy shit.

I'm not really concerned about turning 40, which surprises me a bit. I think it might not really mean much because I can't quite comprehend that it's real. I mean really, 40 year olds aren't young. And I'm not old, so it can't be possible, right? Right?!?

Then you add to it that I don't feel 40. I mean, some days I feel like I'm 12, while giggling at fart jokes. And then others, 112 because I can't even get out of bed on my own. But 40? Not once have I felt 40. Maybe it's because I don't really know what it means - this ever-present marking the passing of time. I know I forget a bit more than I used to. And I look at my retirement account as an important number. But 40 doesn't seem quite right.

Regardless, there it is. 40. Like a tacky, flashing neon beer sign swinging by one chain. Unavoidable. Not pretty. A little creaky. But everyone sees it if they're lucky enough.

Maybe if I keep saying it over and over again, it'll sink in. Then again, maybe I'll forget.

Goodbye, 30s. I think I'm ready to leave you behind.

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