Why I Am Grateful To Be Turning 30
I’ve been struggling with the idea of turning 30. It’s a number that has been haunting me for the last few years. Each month I creep closer to what feels like the end of my youth.
Turning 30 has always been scary for me. I remember being confused as a child that 40 was “Over the Hill,” because it seemed like such a silly age to worry about. I always thought: “By 40, you’re already old, you had 10 years in your 30s.” 50 made more sense because, even by hopeful estimates, you’ve already lived more than half of your life.
But 30…that was the terrifying age. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve seen the stark contrast between how men and women view the age. For men, it signifies an exciting ‘coming of age’. It means finally being taken seriously in the work place – it means you’re becoming a man capable of caring for a family – it’s when ‘real’ life begins. But for women, 30 means something radically different. The closer I’ve approached the number, the more often I hear myself making the joke: “Only 2 months left of being relevant as a woman.”
By 30, a woman better be married or in a serious relationship because any single girl at 30 spurs an instant:
“Aw…but you’ll find someone!”
“But 30 is the new 20!”
“Good for you for being choosy!”
“Oh, okay…so you’re focusing on your career?”
Which directly translates to:
It’s basically the life equivalent of telling someone that it’s “good luck” if it rains on their wedding day, when everyone knows it’s just the ‘everyone gets a trophy’ ‘new-age-feel-goodery’ way of covering up when life…rains on your wedding day.
If the daily reminders from society, friends and family weren’t enough, turning 30 has a magical way of pressing the fast forward button on the decision when to have a child. Something about the number makes you immediately revisit high school calculus as you calculate the seconds you have before your eggs start deteriorating…
Then all the stress of thinking about it makes you skip a period and throws you into a downward depressive spiral, irrationally thinking that even though you’re only 29, you’ve somehow hit menopause early… and despite not being ready for kids…. now maybe you can’t have kids…
Then you mourn the loss of your ability to procreate until a week later when your period shows up and you thank God you’re not pregnant. Back to reality…
30 also sparks thoughts of your future career. You’re likely just getting into the swing of things, especially if you’ve finished a graduate degree. You’ve only had a few years in the work force and now you’re creating an elaborate strategy how to find a guy, get married, have a child and get promoted, all within the next 12 months…
You’re also starting to regret all those times you made fun of Apple and Facebook’s egg freezing “employee benefit” and start checking if they’re hiring…
The closer you get to the 30, you start swearing there are lines on your face that weren’t there yesterday… you’re cursing the sky every time you get a pimple because it’s not fair to be getting older AND still getting acne… you’re no longer getting “carded” at restaurants when you order a drink…and you’re facing the harsh realization that it now takes 2 days to recover from the headache caused by that cocktail.
Even if you’re well on your way to what society says is “successful” – in a committed relationship, planning for children, have a great job… it’s easy to still feel cheated out of time – you want to do more, see more, LIVE more. So, what’s a gal to do?
Well…it all lies in the power of perspective.
If you’re a loyal All-in With Allyn reader, you know that three years ago today, I underwent a prophylactic double mastectomy, removing both of my breasts in an effort to prolong my life. I took this radical step at 26 because my mother was diagnosed with Stage III invasive breast cancer at 27 and I was determined to not let cancer define my life. I wrote last year on March 9th that I forgot about my mastectomy, but this year I have been acutely aware of the date. It’s because I’ve been counting down the days until my 30th birthday on May 27th, wondering how my life will be different when I’m no longer “in my 20s.” It’s felt like all of the most wonderful experiences of my life have come because of my youth. I competed at Miss USA and Miss America, my platform work was “radical” and therefore “relevant” because I was a ’20-something’ having a mastectomy, I was able to travel the world as a model because of my age. As silly as it sounds, I’ve been feeling like the opportunities – the excitement – the value of my life is only going to go downhill from here.
But today was a wake-up call.
At my office, we have a wonderful cleaning lady who greats me with a smile every morning. She struggles with English and I with German, but somehow we always have wonderfully entertaining conversations in “Denglish” (Deutsch-English). Today she mentioned how rainy it has been and asked me if I have been able to “do my sports” anyway. I looked at her curiously because I have been chronically “unsporty” as of late, adding to the pending doom of not just turning 30, but turning 30 and feeling fat. She pressed on – “I saw the photo of you on your desk, running the marathon!” Puzzled, I paused …but then remembered that I have a photo of my mother, crossing the finish line of the “Race Against Cancer” in 2nd place, just months after undergoing a radical mastectomy.
And just like I wrote last year, a felt a twinge of guilt because unlike my mother, who lost her battle with breast cancer, I’ve been given the opportunity to get older.
I distinctly remember my mother’s 50th birthday and how excited she was to be alive. “I made it to 50!” she said to me with a big smile on her face. And to be honest, I’m tearing up at my desk just typing this…
She wanted to live SO BADLY and here I am…complaining about getting older, complaining about going to the gym, complaining about having to have children sooner than I’d like, when my mother would have given ANYTHING simply for the chance to get old, get fat, turn grey, run another mile and spend the rest of her life with her children.
So for all of you ladies who have felt like me, the ones of us who planned on celebrating our “29th Birthday” for the rest of time, the ones who are now regretting not wearing sunscreen every day since birth, the ones who keep making jokes about being on “the wrong side of 20” – – Let’s change our perspective.
Today, March 9, 2018, my 3rd “Boobiversary,” I vow to stop complaining about what the future will or won’t bring me, what choices time forces me to make and I start thanking God that I have been given the gift of seeing my 30th birthday. And I will be grateful for every year that I’m afforded the opportunity to laugh, love and most importantly – live.
XOXO, Allyn
