I had a birthday recently. February 14th, the most contrived of holidays. It passed just like any other birthday. It shouldn’t have felt any different, but it did. Why? Because I turned thirty. Now, I don’t feel ‘over the hill,’ but according to the balloon in the floral section at Ralph’s, that’s exactly what I am. 

       What is it about turning thirty that makes people so crazy? After all, it’s just a number, right? When I was a young kid, I

remember my mom turning thirty, and it was a big deal. I mean she got a microwave for God’s sake. We’re talking 1985; microwaves were like rocket ships for your kitchen, and damn near the same size. Now, thirty isn’t seen as such a big deal. Is it because people are living longer? No, not really. I think it’s because of the nature of our lives.

        It’s a very trendy thing for snarky elitist types, myself included, to say that young people now are dumber than they’ve ever been. I think it’s closer to the truth to say they’re more distracted. Between the insanely long list of channels on TV, the millions of websites (not the awesome ones like this) on which to waste your time, and all the way-cooler-than-I-ever-dreamed-of-as-a-kid video games grabbing our interest, who the hell can concentrate for more than 15 minutes, on anything? Certainly not me, and I think to some extent it holds us back. Despite all the extra time and opportunity technology has afforded us, we get less done than generations past. So as we get older and start to realize how little we’ve accomplished compared to our parents at the same age, we do what our human instinct tells us to - we figure out how it’s not our fault.

            We’re less mature than we should be (of this I’m a shining example), and so we say “30 is the new 20” and “40 is the new 30” and

keep on going until we’re not sure how old we are, and hell who cares anyway because it’s all about how old you feel, right? Except at some point you actually are 30 or 40 or whatever magical age you’re trying to dodge, and you look back and realize that maybe the life you want and the life you have bear little relation.

            For you achievers out there who turned all your homework in on time, I know this makes no sense. For the rest of you, all hope is not lost. When you turn your magical age, take a few seconds to reflect on what the hell it means, to you. If what you come up with is less than what you’re living, start making the two more familiar with each other. Who knows, by the time you hit the next magical number, it might feel like more of an accomplishment than a deadline.

30 Is The New 30