I didn’t think I would have a hard time turning thirty. I really didn’t.
But then the new year came and that changed.
I don’t know quite what it is. It’s not so much feeling “old”–it’s rather a sense of not being “young.”
Like: I shouldn’t be going out so much! I’m almost 30!
Like: I shouldn’t be listening to this music! I’m almost 30!
Like: I shouldn’t be doing multiple outfit changes at this after hours at my house! I’m almost 30!
It’s not: I’m almost 30. I need a baby.
It’s not: I’m almost 30. I should change my investment strategy.
It’s not: I’m almost 30. I should start using a facial strategy.
How I can best sum it up is this: I feel less invincible. Not that I ever felt exceptionally invincible–I’m a bit of a wimp and I understand and fear consequences.
But a little part of me must have believed I could go back and change/relive things. That those nights of driving country roads in my underwear and walking around the villas looking for parties could just as easily happen this weekend. They can’t.
There’s a reason people are considered creepy when they stick around in a college town past their time (and still hang out with just college kids).
I swear I’m not creepy.
I’m just getting “old.” (But I’m still fighting it.)