mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Is This What 30 Is Going To Be Like? 122 days till I turn the big 3-O. It hit me last night that these are the last few months of my twenties. Actually, the thought woke me up out of a sound sleep and I was gripped by a relentless sense of dread. I'm going to be 30. Damn. Where have I been? Where did the time go? How did this happen? And most cliché of all, what am I doing with my life? Up until now, I had been bragging about becoming 30. I talked abut it like it was goddamn privilege. When something irritating happened I'd say "I'm almost 30 ferchrissakes, I don't need to be involved in this petty bullshit." When one of my parents treated me like a child, I'd cry out "I'm practically 30 so bugger off." I'd tell friends, "I'm so glad to be done with these transient twenties. I hated this living on the edge, wondering what will happen next." Thirty meant stability and direction. I was ready. I was. And then I wasn't. At the dentist today, I heard two words that no 29 year should hear - receding gums. Yep, I got them. The hygienist tried to talk me into removing my tongue ring claiming it could be the cause of this new ailment but I flatly refused. I've had this thing for nearly a decade and NO, NO, NO - it does not come out. Is this the beginning of 30? A few weeks ago, I went shopping at Nordstroms. I was perusing the teen section when the salesgirl came by to help and asked if I was shopping for my daughter. I guess the plaid miniskirt I was looking at was a bit "young" for me but seriously I haven't a wrinkle on my face or a gray hair on my head. How dare she. I don't recover from a good drinking binge nearly as quickly as I use to. Oh hell, who am I fooling? I haven't had a good drinking binge in possibly a year. I'm too terrified of being hungover or acting ridiculous while intoxicated. I once drunkenly danced on bars to "Sweet Caroline" and thought nothing of it. I used to drink well into the morning, follow that up with an order of greasy diner fries, and sleep the day away. I'd start the whole process over the following evening. Now, I'd beat myself up for wasting a day and doing such harm to my body. I couldn't have cared less about what the future held. I figured it would all work itself out. I'd find my way in the world or more accurately, it would find me. Now, I'm beginning to panic. Dishery and I had a conversation a few months ago. Her exact words were "sometimes you have to pick a lane and stick in it." But see, I'm a bobber and a weaver. I see an opening and I switch lanes, often without so much as a signal. I cut back and forth, sometimes pissing off those around me with my unpredictability. We talked about a similar topic last week, about how for some of us (Dishery included) it's harder to limit our options because the path isn't as clear. And yes, I'm talking about careers here, how dull. Part of me thinks I'm destined for something more. But what? And at what cost? Then there is another feeling, a feeling of rebelling against the whole career thing. You may know that my parents were very career oriented. They filled their lives with business trips and board meetings and corporate head games. They are both intelligent people who get off on all the trials and tribulations of professional life. Not me. When I hear tales of middle management drama from friends at various tech jobs, I want to vomit. I'm not competitive. I'm not vindictive. I'm not cut-throat. When so many of my friends were navigating a course through the lower ranks of the dot coms, I was sailing aboard a ship in the arctic waters of Alaska. While they were developing business plans, I was organizing a rousing game of shuffleboard. While they celebrated launch dates, we did the same only with a smashed bottle of champagne on our bow. Oddly enough, many of us wound up back at square one. I don't regret my choices. So what am I getting at? I don't know really. I'm nervous, I suppose. I'm on edge. I'm worried about my accomplishments. I wonder how they stack up and then I want to flog myself for even going there. Who am I comparing myself to and why? No one and everyone. For no reason and for every reason. Is this what 30 is going to be like? 9:31 p.m. - 2003-09-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||