When I turned thirty, or maybe a few years after that, I realized that something significant had changed. I had thought I understood things before, but somehow, at thirty, I saw much more. I felt like I had become a person. It was really quite extraordinary, that feeling.
It was all in my head, I suppose, but I felt like I finally had a clue about this life thing. I could make plans and enact them, and I wasn’t just flitting around, doing one thing and another. I understood what it was like to do all kinds of things, because I’d done them. Finally, experience was starting to make a difference.
After that experience, I like to joke that people don’t become persons until they’ve passed thirty. I don’t know if other people experience it this way, although I think a few people I’ve talked to have mentioned something similar.
It’s quite ironic, because when I was a kid, the kids five years older than me were talking about how they couldn’t trust anyone over thirty. I think they knew what they were talking about. When you become a person, your priorities and understandings have changed. You see more long term. You understand there are no more quick fixes. Things are much more complicated than they seem.
I truly hope that forty is not the new thirty, because I’d hate to see people wandering around fairly clueless until they turn forty. I mean, for women, the biological clock has about run out at that point.
SO, I don’t think people should freak out at thirty. I think it is something to welcome. It is settling—not the birthday, itself, but the difference that three decades of experience makes, compared to only a few years before. I guess it’s a kind of tipping point. You can no longer pretend to be a kid. You see too much for that.