In just a few weeks, I’ll be marking another birthday. While it’s not a milestone year, it’s one of those occasions that tends to fade into the background—special yet somewhat insignificant. It’s one of those “something” birthdays.
Reflecting on my earlier writings about the enchanting age of 33, I’ve come to realize that not much has shifted. The essence of being thirtysomething remains strikingly similar today, though perhaps with a few more lines on my face. This phase of life is about finding comfort—both in my existence and in myself. It’s largely the same, yet enriched with clarity.
Being thirtysomething means acknowledging there was once a television series called Thirtysomething, despite never having watched it. It’s being able to name some members of the Brat Pack, but certainly not all. It’s momentarily forgetting your child’s first-grade teacher while still recalling your own.
This age is characterized by forgotten cups of coffee lingering in the microwave and the satisfaction of hitting the pillow by 9 p.m. on a Saturday night. It’s waking up at 7:30 a.m. on those rare mornings when sleep is abundant.
At thirtysomething, regular visits to a colorist become routine. You know precisely which shade of bronze lipstick enhances your features, yet you might still brave the boldness of hot pink for fun. It’s the art of discerning what truly matters and what doesn’t, even if the lines sometimes blur.
You remember exactly where you were on September 11, 2001. This stage of life brings more birthday parties and christenings than weddings, but unfortunately, many more funerals than one would hope. There’s that fleeting anxiety when your mother’s name pops up on your phone at an unexpected hour—what could it mean?
Thirtysomething is often marked by stretches of time when everything aligns beautifully; life feels vibrant, and possibilities seem endless. Conversely, there are also fleeting moments when everything feels off-kilter, life becomes challenging, and some dreams appear unreachable. It’s the juxtaposition of joy and sorrow—crying in the shower or indulging in cookie dough, both when life is sweet and when it’s tough.
This age often brings a sense of youthful angst, leaving you to wonder if adulthood ever stops feeling like high school. It’s trying not to chuckle when your child mispronounces “truck,” and adding a cheeky “that’s what she said” far too frequently.
Comfort becomes the name of the game—whether it’s in your pajamas, bras, or shoes. You’re grappling with pimples, wrinkles, and age spots all at once. Contrary to popular belief, you might discover that yoga isn’t your thing, and you’re perfectly fine with that.
At thirtysomething, you’re tucking little ones back into bed after a nightmare, only to lie awake for hours afterward. You may still struggle with the difference between “laying” and “lying,” yet find it doesn’t really bother you. You feel simultaneously young and old, with friends from their twenties and those in their forties.
Navigating this phase involves mastering the art of saying “nope” politely and often resorting to “I don’t know” or “ask your dad.” You may feel a tinge of disappointment about not being invited to a gathering, even if you wouldn’t want to attend.
Date nights at chain restaurants, minivans, and endless discussions about finances define this stage. You recognize who your true friends are and where your safe spaces lie, making it a point to offer that same comfort to others. Thirtysomething is embracing a body that has changed—perhaps a fuller belly, sagging breasts, and thicker thighs—and mostly being okay with that because your heart is fuller.
It’s a time of gaining wisdom, having a touch more common sense, and knowing precisely how many hours remain until bedtime.
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In summary, the age of thirtysomething is a unique blend of nostalgia, responsibility, and the ongoing journey of self-discovery. It’s about embracing life’s ups and downs while finding joy in the everyday moments.