Turning 30

I turn 30 next week and I’m super stoked about it. So many people I know start turning 29a, 29b, etc., as if it were a bad thing to get older. I am definitely not one of those people.

Some friends looked at me aghast when I said I would be turning 30 and not 29a. In particular the gay friends told me I better at least leave my age as 29 on my planetromeo profile because otherwise “far fewer people are going to write you”. Well, if turning 30 means less people are going to be interested, then so be it. In truth I really couldn’t give a flying fuck if fewer people write me, particularly because the ones who decide not to write because I’m 30 instead of 29 are probably people I’m not really interested in talking to anyway.

Sure, things change as we get older, but I think that’s a good thing. When I was 20 I could get Tucker Max drunk Thursday – Sunday and hardly have a hangover, perfectly able to get things done for university. Now I party and I need some time to recover the next day, but in all honesty that is for the better—it makes me more responsible. I mean, sometimes I would go out balls-to-the-wall when I knew I had class early the next morning. Nowadays, if I know I have to work or have something else important to do the next day, I won’t party hard the night before.

OK, that’s not always entirely true, but when I opt to go out in spite of my better judgment, the hangover the next day is a reminder that I have other shit to do in my life besides party. And honestly, sometimes it’s fun to lounge around on the couch hungover watching films with friends. On the eve of turning 30, I’m in a much better position than I was at 20 to decide when it’s too much and to roll with that decision. And though I (usually) party more responsibly now than I did in university, I don’t think that means that I can’t still go crazy and have tons of fun when I do party.

A perfect example is next week. I’ve set aside the entire week precisely so I can party as hard as I want. But rather than just fucking off on work, I was responsible enough to make sure everyone knew in advance not to expect any work from me next week. When I was 20 I would have just skipped class and then made up some excuse as to why the absences were legit. This way I can party without feeling guilty. I’ll party in the city all week with friends before heading to the countryside with a group of friends for a weekend of hiking, wine tasting, and a final party in an old castle cellar.

I also don’t look like a 20-year-old anymore, but thank fucking god for that. I plan on aging naturally and gracefully; you won’t ever hear of me getting plastic surgery in a vain attempt to look younger. Then again, I’ve always been more attracted to a mature look. People are like wines: we get better with age. Just because one looks older doesn’t mean one doesn’t look sexy. The getting-older sexy is a type of sexy that is not that green-behind-the-ears look, and that is what makes it so appealing to me.

Every birthday means another year of experiences, another year of getting to know myself and the world around me more intimately, another year of living life to the fullest. While there may be a few slight disadvantages to getting older, the benefits far outweigh them. I wouldn’t change that for the world.

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