I turned 30 a few days ago and everyone keeps reminding me that this will be the best decade of my life. Why? Because I’ll have some free cash, I’ll be more sure about who I am as a person, my job will be more secure, I’m still young enough to enjoy it and probably not yet encumbered with house, family, children, et al.
So, what’s the truth of it? How does it play out? Hmm…
I do have a secure job but rather bored with it. I do have a house with a mortgage. No spouse or children yet, but neither a relationship is currently in the offing. It’s not miserable, no, and to pretend so is a lie I won’t cop to, but is it my best decade yet?
Well, I don’t know. I have 10 more years to see if that proved to be true or not. But, from where I stand right now, I would much prefer to be through it and not have to live all those years in the middle.
It’s really hard not having an idea of what comes next because the obvious points: school, first two jobs, a couple of “starter” relationships (ha! I never believed in that concept), these have come and gone and I’m unaware of how to get to the next set of things that our society, at large, has ‘promised’ to me.
How does one go about meeting someone new when out of college and the workplace now, as a more senior person, is mainly populated by the marrieds, the be-childed, and the inappropriately untouchable youth?
How does one get up the motivation to take the bigger job, the one that involves all the travel and the perks, when it comes with the hours which amount to dollars but not to much sense if you don’t have a foundation at home that you’re building it for?
How does one stop from feeling lonely when all the lights, the drinks, the wild group of friends from the partying 20s have now receded into the background, into the dusk, as they couple off and turn inward and you’re not a distinct part of that stage yet?
How does one go about living when it feels like you don’t exist anymore?
Those a hard questions with few easy answers. I don’t have them yet. I suppose that this will be revealed to me between now and whenever, but the waiting, the waiting, oh the waiting, that’s hard, and after a life of many hard things (coming out closet, staying in it, getting back in it, tossing off the doors of it; losing friends from bad relationships; losing friends for being bad friends; job disappointments; job failures; family disappointments – because living is a hard thing on everyone and anyone who tells you different is either an idiot or a liar or some revolting combination of both) I am fully ready, I sit waiting at the table, begging almost for that cupful of easy things.
Just a cup. I’d take it. Maybe eight ounces, even four, a cordial sized cup, of easy things. Of easy, good things.
I have to believe it gets better. I have to be as certain of that as I am that when I breathe in, I get air, and when I breathe out, and let go of carbon dioxide, and the repetition of that process will happen again and again for a long enough time for me to make it through, at least, this decade.
I have to believe.