Well, hello there, Thirty.
They warned me about you…
But you don’t scare me.
Truthfully, I’ve looked forward to meeting you with some degree of joy, but an overwhelming peace. It’s like I’ve known you and felt you a long time, before I’d ever met you. So claiming you now, for myself, feels… right.
It feels like I’ve been Thirty a long time.
Rather than a badge of shame, a sign of my aging, a measure of my mortality, I will slide you on like my old, favorite sweatshirt: not uniquely or solely mine, but as familiar to me as my own skin.
I will settle into you for the long haul, gratuitous for this moment and looking forward to the future with anticipation and joy. Because, really, I only have you for one short year.
In one short year, Thirty, I will kiss you goodbye and trade you in to take the hand of Thirty-One.
If ever an identity crisis would strike over my age, perhaps it will be then. I’ve spent so long feeling this way, will I feel you, Thirty, after your time expires? Will I miss you once you’re gone?
I guess we’ll worry about that when we get there. Until then, welcome, Thirty. It’s nice to finally meet you.
