This St. Patrick’s Day, I’m Turning 30

Reflections on life, 30 years in

Photo of the author and her dog on a Saint Patrick’s Day bench, taken by her fiancé (& featuring his shadow)

I don’t know what I imagined turning 30 would feel like, but probably, it isn’t this. Since Andy forced me to listen to it, I’ve had Bo Burnam’s song about it stuck in my head. Definitely didn’t see that one coming. Ditto basically everything else that’s happening in the world right now.

The last few years have felt so surreal, it hardly seems possible I’ve continued aging during them. My single strand of grey hair and ever-deepening forehead wrinkles disagree on this point, however.

In spite of the vague dystopian feel of life lately, I’m surprised to find myself excited about turning 30. Aging is no friend of mine — the whole concept terrifies me, because it means I’m gaining ground on death.

And yet. I feel ready to leave my 20s behind. I’ve outgrown them, like the too small clothes buried at the back of my dresser. In that respect, I feel a bit like Nick from New Girl, who remarked that growing old feels like aging into his personality.

Gif from New Girl, sourced via Giphy

I wake at 5am. Some days, like today, my pain wakes me up even earlier and I give up on falling back asleep. I’m in…