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A random thought as 30 approaches
A brief rant.
I am afraid. It’s 8:16 in the morning. I am trying to do my due diligence as a writer by reading consistently, everyday. But today I am terrified. I just finished a New Yorker fiction piece about a nursing home in Singapore detailing the lives of its elderly residents, the ones who are dying a slow death, often without the support of their families. It sounds like torture.
I’m turning 30 years old this July. I know it’s not old. But I know it’s driving away from young. I feel it. Telling someone your 30 rings different than 20. Of course, every new decade you enter sounds old to you. I’m sure a 40, 50, 60+ -year old reading this would laugh at the idea of someone turning 30 thinking they’re old. But that’s the thing, part of me feels my life is over. In a way part of my life is over. It doesn’t mean I can’t still pursue and work toward the goals I want to achieve, but the perpetual energy I felt for the first few decades is being chipped away at. I guess I could combat that with a healthier lifestyle (avoiding sitting hunched over a table head down into my laptop as I am now), but that seems exhausting. Guess I should stop being lazy.
And apologies to anyone over 30 who’s reading this and thinking, “just wait until you turn X years old.”
