The Tender Age of 30

As I approach my 30th birthday in April, I’ve been thinking a lot about the aging process. For some, we’ll call them Group A, it’s a terrifying and depressing thing to add one more year to your age belt. For others, Group B, it’s not the number on your belt that’s counting, it’s your state of mind and body that counts. Having another birthday is just another reason to celebrate. I’m in Group B.

Now here’s what bothers me. In conversations with those who lean more towards Group A, divulging my thoughts on the aging process is normally returned with, “Of course you think that way now, you’re only 30.” Or the “when you’re my age, you’ll understand”. I totally get that with age comes additional life experience, but being patronized like that just irritates the shit out of me. I’m beginning to feel like I’m never going to be old enough to escape this type of patronization. Which means, not only am I ok with birthdays and turning another year older, that’s what I WANT. I’ve diluted myself in believing that with age comes respect. And in plenty of ways, that’s true. But I think that I deserve plenty of respect, even if I am only 30 years old. 30 feels so young to me.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just because I’m sensitive when it comes to feeling respected. Patronizing behavior really gets under my skin, just as much as passive-aggressiveness. I just can’t tolerate it. The truth of the matter is, deep down I feel like I have a healthy way of viewing age. I’m not scared and I really try not to judge people based on their number of years spent on this earth*.

Do I make any sense at all or is this all just a load of crap?

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*Ok, every once and a while I judge the teenagers. But come one, the teens are by far the worst ages in the whole process, it’s no wonder they’re annoying most of the time. I know I was.