This last week, the last day of last year, I turned 30. I dreaded that day since I entered the late 20s. Why does this have to happen to me? When I turned 29, I wanted to fill every form possible so that I could fill the “age section” with the coveted 20-something. “Never ask a woman her age” became my most beloved saying. It felt like the visa to remain crazy was in a nonrenewable zone after I cross the border of 29.
While all conversations with friends in the same age bracket turned towards this serious life crisis, some thought it to be a nonevent, many were freaking out, others thought it was going to be a game changer. And I thought, oh that poor little number; how we treat it with disdain and fear! We are such, if I may say, age-ists.
Age is a number – yes. It’s all in the mind -yes. But it will slow down metabolism, it will get the biological clock ticking a beat faster. However, on other levels, age shouldn’t define us, we should define it. It’s not like we are Cinderella carriages that have turned into pumpkins. We can do what we want – with our careers, with our love lives, with our dreams. So all those in my shoes, stop mourning over those “15 things you must do/travel to/wear in your 20s” articles and blogs. One can age gracefully; let’s have the remote control of what this number defines for us, and for heaven’s sake, let’s leave that much-tortured number alone!
The journey from 11:59 at age 29 to 00:00 when I turned 30 was the slowest and I wished it could be slower. But now that it’s here, I am going to embrace it with oomph and style! Here’s to the Dirty Thirty!