ThIrtysomethIng

I had a birthday this week. There wasn’t a cake, and there were no balloons. I tend to be a bit private about my birthday, only to announce it days after the fact. I’ve been this way most of my life. I guess I never want friends to feel obligated to pencil in their calendars and express mail me birthday cards. I spent my birthday doing a photo shoot with my friend Laurie for her upcoming Christmas Stocking line. She staged while I photographed. No obligation, no expectation, just two friends collaborating, creating and laughing. It was the best kind of day.

 

Thirty-nine.  39.  Thirty9.

 

I can already tell this is going to be an interesting year. I’ve only felt this way once before, and that was on my 15th birthday. Knowing once I turned 16 and could legally drive, my world as I knew it was about to change forever. But 39? You have one foot firmly planted in your 30’s, with 40 tapping its boney finger on your shoulder, reminding you the next decade of your life is about to begin.

 

For the first time, I feel like a “thirtysomething”. Remember that tv show? I was a Sophomore in high school and used to watch that show religiously. I used it as my guide book to growing old. Yes, when you are 16, thirtysomething is very old. And yet, I don’t feel one ounce of old. Except for those few occasions when the grocery bagger at the market asks me “Need any help carrying our your bags, ma’am?” That’s when I feel the sudden urge to pull the baguette out of my cart and whap him over the head with it. “Ma’am” should be strictly reserved for little old grannies, period.

 

One of my favorite quotes, I think this sums it up perfectly:

 

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!’”
— Hunter S. Thompson