I was a few weeks shy of my 29th birthday and I was uncharacteristically freaking out. For some reason, I’d been grappling with this age more than previous years. It feels old and weirdly significant, even though it’s not significant at all. It’s the last year of my twenties. It feels like there are things I want and need to accomplish this year, before that big 3-0.
I’ve been trying to tell myself for a few years now that age is just a number. That as you grow up the number stops being important, and life becomes more about the milestones and the experiences.
But maybe that was the problem. I became fixated on having plenty of experiences before I turned 30. I was, and maybe still am, convinced that 30 is this magical age that sets you firmly in adulthood. Any twenty-something age feels young to me now. You’re in college in your twenties. You party in your twenties. You live in crappy apartments and have crappy jobs in your twenties. You make mistakes and need help in your twenties. You feel invincible and yet helpless in your twenties. But thirty – well, you better have it figured out.
I’m so acutely aware that I’m over thinking the age thing. Every year, I tell myself I don’t care how old I am, and most years I write a blog post to that effect. And yet, the fact that I pay any attention to it at all is exactly what makes me a hypocrite. For some reason, I do care about my age. It does mean something to me.
Time passes and the years gently cradle my memories in their arms, and the horizon that was once a far off dream is now just a short skip away. I think it’s natural to reflect on the years that age us, the milestones we hold up as a beacon to the past. I believe the older we get the more aware we are of what time actually does to us. The way time quietly erodes the edges of our bodies and our energy. Time changes us in ways that we can’t always see and ways that would slip right past unless we reach out to inspect it once in awhile.
So I will maintain that I’m allowed to have a small, uncharacteristic freak-out. I’m over it now anyway. I’m 29 and I’m head over heels in love with my life. Every day that ticks past is one day closer to 30, and I’ve decided that the only way to pay homage to my incredible roaring twenties is to do 30 things before I turn 30 that I’ve either never done before, always wanted to do, or just really want to do again. Places I want to go, restaurants I want to try, beer I want to drink, things I want to see.
I want this year to be a testament to love and joy and success and happiness. I want to hold this year up to the light and inspect it, every glorious facet of color and beauty and optimism. I want this year to have purpose and meaning, even in the small moments of checking off a new brewery or spending time with my family. I want to soak in new experiences and slow down time for just a second.
I want to really, truly live this wild and wonderful life and the train tracks I am on are swiftly approaching a milestone. This list just gives me a little motivation.