Getting over the 30-year hump

A little over two weeks ago, I turned 30. It was shocking.

Not the number, of course. It’s fairly low compared to the average life expectancy, and from what I can gather most people hit it at one time or another. But there is still something disconcerting in knowing that your 20s have officially ended, and that time is passing (pretty quickly at that).

Suddenly, you’re not "young" anymore in the eyes of the world, no matter what the people who are 50 or 75 tell you. It’s time for your story to get moving, because you’re not "fresh out of college" or "figuring things out." College was years ago. Things have been figured. You’re on your way, for better or worse.

Of course, I don’t want to come off as one who puts a lot of emphasis on age — I don’t — and I’ve read about or met so many older but still in-shape, hungry individuals that it’s hard for me to get down about a flip of the calendar. That number is a mile-marker on the highway, not the accident that blocks three lanes, and it isn’t a limitation any more than one wills it to be.

But I would be lying if I said that starting a new decade wasn’t the spark for a little unwanted introspection. All the classic questions arose: Did I take the right course? Should I have done things differently? Am I truly happy with where I am? Should I have sold everything at 22 and moved to the desert like the adventurers in "National Geographic," writing and waiting for my shot at the fame and fortune that comes with ... adventures?

It’s human nature to wonder these things, I suppose, but it doesn’t make the answers come more easily. And it doesn’t help that I began taking notice of other people’s ages and comparing where I am to where they are. Yeah. Don’t do that.

"That guy is 32? And he writes for the (insert massive, well-known publication here)? But I’m better than him! I wonder what college he went to. He probably knew somebody. Yeah. I hate that guy."

We’re a jealous lot, we writers.

Eventually, though, I settle my noisy mind and recall once more that this whole thing is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m pretty happy with where I’m heading and that over the last couple years, I’ve managed to pick up a lot of hobbies, like boxing, backpacking, and photography, that I’ve always liked but never thought I’d actually do.

I’ll find others in the future, I think, maybe astronomy or horticulture — anything to help me pursue my personal definition of The Good Life, which I’ve boiled down to a three-word phrase: "Don’t be boring."

It might not be much. But it’s mine. And the one benefit of getting older is that slow realization that what others think or do doesn’t matter much.

Unless you’re a writer who’s better than me.

In that case, I probably hate you.

Email: janoski@northjersey.com

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