For most of you, Wednesday was just another day. You probably remarked that August is over and how fast the summer had flown by. But not me. I was too busy turning 30.
Technically, I didn’t turn 30 until 12:57pm, in the fitting room at The Gap to be precise. I tried to hold on to every minute of my 20s, but the calls and texts came in pretty early! Because I’m my mother’s daughter, I took the day off from work. I went to the mall to cash in on all of the birthday coupons from my favorite retailers. Side note: Has anyone noticed that there are less birthday coupons this year? I didn’t get anything from Victoria’s Secret (aw shucks), Macy’s (kind of a bummer) or DSW (friggin’ jerks). Luckily, Express, Old Navy, Ann Taylor and Starbucks pulled through for me. Still, I rewarded bad behavior by getting new boots at DSW and jeans from Macy’s. Maybe the best birthday present was finding that I wear smaller pants now. I also bought my first pair of ladies’ Levi’s jeans. (I used to wear their men’s jeans in high school, but we’re not going there right now.)
There’s nothing like a birthday to make you feel all philosophical. You’d think I’d be fine turning 30 since I can never remember how old I am anyway. “Honey, how old are we?” is a very frequent question in our house. I was totally ready for 30. It was 25 that hit me really hard. I remember sitting in my boss’s office, freaking out about all the things I should have accomplished by then. I then went on to celebrate my birthday at the Olive Garden with my friends and their husbands and the guy I’d just started dating. He ended up leaving dinner to go pick up his friend whose car died 90 minutes away. Right. So turning 30 couldn’t be worse than that. I’m married now to the best guy I’ve ever dated (luckily for him, I set that bar really low). I’m in probably the best physical shape I’ve ever been in (again, I set the bar low there). I have an awesome job, an MBA and a fairly decent condo that we’ve totally outgrown but could be much worse. Things really fell into place in the last five years.
So even though the card from my parents with the big fat 30 on front jarred me a little, I think I’m going to come out okay. Like everything, it’s not what’s on the outside that matters. It’s the inside that counts.
See? That’s more like it.