15,778,440 minutes and counting; turning 30
This Saturday, three days from today, will mark the 30th time I have traveled around sun. In that time, the earth has travelled a swift 17,530,086,987 miles, over the course of only 10,950 days.
I am having a hard time getting a handle on this seemingly large number, this number 30. It doesn’t seem right, it doesn’t seem possible. Growing up 30 seemed to be immersed in old-age, it was an age beyond youth, it was to be said in the same sentence as 40 or 50, but never with 20 or even 25. 30 year olds shouldn’t go out to bars, or play video games, or live in little NYC apartments, but although the number doesn’t seem right, I don’t do any of those anymore. I’m married and live in a house in Connecticut. I am a father. These are things in common with 40 year-olds, but not with 20 year olds. I have reached a weird stage of life where much of my future it already set, where some of the bug questions have already been answered. But I feel that I’m not ready, that it has happened too quickly, but it hasn’t been a flash of time. My 20s have been a moderate whirlwind of adventures and change. I don’t feel that I missed out on anything, but I also don’t feel like I accomplished everything I wanted. On the one side, I want to be young and free, but on the other side, I would have liked to achieve more success in my career by age 30. Perhaps I should try my mother’s trick of staying 29 years old. If I shaved my beard, I think I would have no problem convincing people for years to come, but I’m not sure I really want that either. I think I want the grown-up successes (to go along with my grown-up responsibilities). Well, maybe it doesn’t matter what I want, I am what I am. My body aches when I attempt to exercise, it takes weeks (not hours) to recover from injuries), I’ve already done most of the things that I could be doing, I have life insurance, I am getting older. What am I “old”?
“For a piece of fruit I am very old.For a mountain I have not yet begun to live.But for a man I am just right.”
Perhaps that is right, perhaps I am just right. Besides how old can I be, I still have my hair…for now.
I am having a hard time getting a handle on this seemingly large number, this number 30. It doesn’t seem right, it doesn’t seem possible. Growing up 30 seemed to be immersed in old-age, it was an age beyond youth, it was to be said in the same sentence as 40 or 50, but never with 20 or even 25. 30 year olds shouldn’t go out to bars, or play video games, or live in little NYC apartments, but although the number doesn’t seem right, I don’t do any of those anymore. I’m married and live in a house in Connecticut. I am a father. These are things in common with 40 year-olds, but not with 20 year olds. I have reached a weird stage of life where much of my future it already set, where some of the bug questions have already been answered. But I feel that I’m not ready, that it has happened too quickly, but it hasn’t been a flash of time. My 20s have been a moderate whirlwind of adventures and change. I don’t feel that I missed out on anything, but I also don’t feel like I accomplished everything I wanted. On the one side, I want to be young and free, but on the other side, I would have liked to achieve more success in my career by age 30. Perhaps I should try my mother’s trick of staying 29 years old. If I shaved my beard, I think I would have no problem convincing people for years to come, but I’m not sure I really want that either. I think I want the grown-up successes (to go along with my grown-up responsibilities). Well, maybe it doesn’t matter what I want, I am what I am. My body aches when I attempt to exercise, it takes weeks (not hours) to recover from injuries), I’ve already done most of the things that I could be doing, I have life insurance, I am getting older. What am I “old”?
“For a piece of fruit I am very old.For a mountain I have not yet begun to live.But for a man I am just right.”
Perhaps that is right, perhaps I am just right. Besides how old can I be, I still have my hair…for now.
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