30

Today's soundtrack*:
"Silver Platter Club" by John Grant
"Your Head Is On Fire" by Broken Bells
"Hypnotised I" by Alamo Race Track
"Me and Lazarus" by Iron & Wine
"Don't Carry It All" by The Decemberists
"Coronado" by Deerhunter
"Evening Kitchen" by Band of Horses
"Walk Around the Lake" by Lost in the Trees
"More Ways (Offside)" by Balthazar


It's a big number.  21 was fun.  I was in Italy and, really, what does 21 mean other than one's ability to drink in the States?  It's a milestone in the way that turning 16 is a milestone:  there's all this stuff I can now do legally.  And 21 is that last marker of adulthood.  Twenty-one is that final stamp that says you've arrived and you're all growed-up, so time to strike out on your own and learn to cook something other than Kraft Dinner.


Thirty isn't like that, although maybe it should be.  Thirty is met with dread.  It's the first signifier of mortality.  You're 21?  Party!  You're 30?  Have you thought about life insurance?  RRSPs?  What do you mean you don't have a car? 


There are innumerable lists of what I should have accomplished by this point in my life.  Partner, kids, job, house, car.  I should exude self-confidence and be rid of all awkwardness.  I should have a wardrobe of professional work clothes and use various wrinkle creams.


You know what?  Those lists are crap.  I don't feel any less awkward now than I did as a teenager.  Lord knows my skin still acts like it's a teenager, why shouldn't my social skills follow suit?  And everything I've supposed to have accomplished by now?  Well, none of these lists account for graduate school, feminism, and persistent awkwardness.


All that being said, my twenties were fantastic and completely unpredictable.  When I turned 20, I imagined I'd finished by B.A., get a B.Ed, and teach high school on Vancouver Island for the rest of my life.  By 30 I'd have a house, car, kids, job, the lot.  Instead...  I went to grad school.  Met some amazing people.  Met some crazy people.  Met my partner.  Lived in two different provinces.  Moved across the Atlantic.  Travelled.  So it's not as though I haven't accomplished anything... just nothing on those Cosmo lists.  And maybe Lady J's friend was right.  I mean, I think I was pretty damned interesting at 21, but I've got much better stories at 30 (social awkwardness aside, because that isn't going anywhere).  And while I can't say with any certainty that I'm any more mature now than I was 5 or 10 years ago (okay, 5 years.  I'm definitely more mature than I was 10 years ago.  Shudder), I think I have a pretty good sense of who I am and what I stand for.


But this idea that at 30 I'd've accomplished x, y, and z and therefore be finished evolving is just folly.  There's so much I haven't done yet, aside from the kids, house, car, and job.  That doesn't mean that I don't have my life together - I just don't my Cosmo life together.  And what a horror that would be.  No Spaniard.  No grad school.  No Scotland.  No knitting.


30 is not the beginning of the end.  I haven't even finished the beginning of the beginning yet.  30 doesn't mean I should start wearing professional work clothes, using wrinkle creams, and moan about RRSP contributions.  


No, 30 is when I start to get interesting.


* is brought to you by Yvon's superior musical taste, the number 30, and the letter T.