Those of you who know me know that I have long been freaked out about the prospect of turning thirty. Those of you who know me well know that that is a little bit of an understatement.
It's not entirely the prospect of getting old that bothers me (runners live forever, right?), it's more that I thought that I'd have everything figured out by now. When I was younger, I thought thirty was some sort of benchmark, that when I turned thirty I would feel, somehow, more adult than I do right now.
I thought that I would suddenly be able to do math, that I would never go to the gym and forget which locker I left my clothes in, that I would not be such a regrettably terrible driver anymore, that I would stop forgetting where I put my keys, that I would be cooking dinner every night instead of ordering takeout, and that I would miraculously stop burning rice (I turned thirty yesterday; not one of those things has changed- although I haven't tried to make rice yet...). I thought that by now I would be at a place in my life where I could tell you exactly where I would be in five years.
I guess, in some ways, turning thirty has just made me realize that the journey is never really over. Maybe I'll never really have it completely figured out (and I'm pretty sure my driving skills aren't going to improve), but maybe that's okay. It certainly makes things more interesting.
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