Monday, 23 August 2004 | Almost thirty

I'm not in my twenties nor am I in my thirties. I am 29, which most often is pronounced: "AL-most THIR-ty." It's a fine year, as far as years go, but that has nothing to do with my age. If it were just about my age, it'd be a wasted year, because while I am technically still in my twenties, my brain has already sorrowfully said goodbye to them. Nevermind the fact that I still feel, probably look, and (in many ways) act as if I'm securely in the midst of that decade. (Which of course invites the question, what is one supposed to act like at 29?)

If there weren't numbers attached to me, I probably wouldn't even think about my age at all, and I honestly don't think it matters all that much. I think the most troubling thing is that, besides whatever societal norms and expectations I'll be faced with in the coming years (whether or not I'm ready for them), I am now going to get obnoxious age-related birthday cards. (To my parents: I apologize for ever giving you greeting cards that humorlessly mocked your age, and for, when I was little, wrapping items you already owned and giving them to you as birthday presents.)

For the remaining two-and-a-half months of 29, I am going to try hard to convince my stubborn brain that I'm indeed still in my twenties, and not somehow floating in between two decades. The first step will be striking the phrase "almost thirty" from my vocabulary. While I'm sure 30 will be fine, there's no reason to get there early.