Reaching 30 is a lot like reaching the middle of a pint of Ben & Jerryʼs. You canʼt believe its almost gone and you donʼt know how long the rest will last. Just the words, “your twenties” sounds so innocent, so appealing. Are you married? “Oh no, Iʼm just in my twenties.” See? Innocent. Try the same question with a different response. “On no, Iʼm just in my thirties.” This answer will not produce the sympathetic and smiling responses of the previous twenty something but rather knowing nods or downward turned eyes, clearly bearing my burden of shame for me. Women in their thirties are also seemingly expected to have their lives figured out for them. Whether spinster fairies slip life syllabi under our pillows at night or we design a working flow chart to follow is uncertain, what I do know is that none of these plans are valid. You might as well try to plan where the next stretch mark is going to appear on your body. Its going to be a surprise no matter how right you think you are.
I canʼt help but wonder if my mother is disappointed in me. After all, she was married at nineteen and then went on to raise a family of two children with my father. My mom was a mother of two at my age and I canʼt even keep the azalea bushes on my front lawn from dying. She has two children, I have two college degrees. She has a husband, I have an obese black cocker spaniel. She had a flow chart to life that worked beautifully, I canʼt even have an orderly menstrual cycle. I refuse to hold a pity party though because other women feel the same way I do, besides Iʼm still recovering from last months bawling bash in the swimsuit dressing room at Saks. Flow charts, Life syllabi and well devised plans for an ordered approach to our thirties are pointless. Sure. Sure. We could create elaborately detailed goal lists but you know as well as I that those lists and charts are like a pair of Spanx. When we slip those makeshift girdles on over our trouble areas we feel weʼve covered the problem, but deep down you know as well as I that at the end of the day when we peel off those powerful panties all our problems are exposed all over again, thereʼs no hiding from 30.
If there is nothing to fear but fear itself then perhaps its time we take a new approach to our thirty something viewpoints. Off with the old and on with the new, or rather in this case, off with the perky and on with the saggy. Sag away ladies. Thats what supportive bras are for. Smile as wide and often as you like, thats why La Mer made wrinkle cream. And most importantly, when someone questions your lack of a life plan donʼt make excuses for it, simply ask them about theirs. More often than not they do not have one either. Their flow charts are missing boxes. Their goal sheets are lacking check marks. And more than likely, their dog ate their life syllabus.
