I am now officially 30. I faced the oncoming BOOM with friendly regard. Friends who have already passed the 30-yr-mark have told me they gladly said goodbye to the awkward, mistakes-filled 20s, and so I was ready for a period of contentment, self-awareness, and gratitude for just being alive (not necessarily “all these years,” but in a general human, existential sense). And then I found out my coworkers are all in their mid-20s. And then it was the night before my birthday, and it hit me when I told an acquaintance how old I was turning, THAT I WAS ACTUALLY TURNING 30, AS IN NO MORE 20s, AS IN THAT’S IT FOR BEING A MISGUIDED KID, as in there is no turning back.

And the drama rattled for a few seconds in my brain and thankfully dissipated into a night of good company and good energy. We can talk about age for hours.

Age is like food – it brings people together. Stories of turning a certain age and frequent acknowledgements of how speedily time passes the older you get are becoming commonplace in my day-to-day interactions, and I welcome them, because with age comes wisdom and such a strong sense of identity that surely, this is why it takes 30 years to get to this beautiful, peaceful place.