Coming of Age
Listen to me pontificate on how old and wise I am becoming
The day—and period of life—I’ve looked forward to for much of my 20s is finally here. I am now 30 years old, and for the first time in many birthdays, turning a new age does indeed feel a bit different. As I texted a close friend, “I have very much been looking forward to my 30s, but already this morning I feel a desire to now have life slow down. I don’t want my 40th birthday to arrive anytime soon.” A birthday-morning chai and my journal helped me reflect on what’s brought about this sense of novelty.
First and foremost it would seem to stem from the cultural significance we place on decades of age as mile-markers of meaning. For no reason other than our civilization adopting a base ten numerical system, we chunk time and periods of life in years of ten. Identity and biology also play a role—althought still somewhat socially prescribed—as there are things in life we’re expected to do during our 30s. And this all exists, jumbled up, in an increasingly-complex world in which we seem to come of age later and later.
30 is the new 20, as they say.
Nevertheless, the 20s are still the Defining Decade, consciously and unconsciously charting the course of where the rest of life will lead us. I’ve long been aware of the importance of decisions made throughout the 20s, and while 30 has held its intrigue over me, I feel satisfied with where I’ve been, the things I’ve accomplished, and the relationships I’ve been a part of.
Perhaps more salient than these somewhat material realizations are the intangibles. An insatiable curiosity to understand myself and the world around me. Giving patience and the benefit of the doubt to friends, family, and strangers. The growing ability and willingness to say, “I don’t know.”
Every phase of life holds its own distinct qualities: the imagination and wonder of childhood; the hardships and personal growth of adolescence and early adulthood; the security and autonomy of adulthood; the wisdom and peace (hopefully) of old age. It’s clear to me that my time as a dementia caregiver, and interacting frequently with older adults, heavily influenced this attraction toward my 30s, and years beyond. Trusting the advice of those older than me has generally felt intuitive—why disregard the words and experiences of those I would very soon become? I can’t help but wonder if Mom and Dad are laughing or nodding along.
As I welcome this new period of life, I choose to find meaning in what could just as easily be meaningless. I could hold on to my 20s, stay 29 forever, or choose to appreciate this next decade as a sort of sweet spot. The body is still fully capable of being pushed to its limits, yet the wisdom of aging begins to slowly filter in. Sports and recreational activities have grown more engaging, for the slowness of mind and more measured emotions. The lessons of books hold more weight, for deeper lived experience to weigh fact against fiction.
A vivid recognition in recent weeks is the incredibly slippery nature of personal development and change over time. The books I choose to read, movies I choose to watch, music I choose to listen to. “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” These platitudes are increasingly clear. There is a sense of satisfaction & pride in my choice in the matter, as well as an awareness & admittance of the social/environmental constructions of our lives.
As we age, and the demands of life pile up, it can grow so easy to lose our grip on the reigns. I’m grateful for my partner and the other people around me who, implicitly or explicitly, demonstrate that life is to be uncovered and explored, not simply guided by the status quo. I’m grateful for the trajectory and standing in life that provides a sense of agency & self-efficacy in this act of exploration. I look forward to a future of further responsibility—a narrowing of perceived freedom in exchange for a widening of meaning—but for now the future appears malleable and self-determined.
Thanks for reading :)