I remember, at 25, watching the Sex and the City episode when Carrie turns 35. Basically she freaks out because she has to choose a different box on those age-range questions on surveys. I remember thinking at the time that I would not at all freak out about turning 35. At the very least, I would not freak out over something so petty.
So here I am, almost a week after I have turned 35 (b-day was on the 7th) and I can tell you I did not freak out. Not only about something to petty, but pretty much at all. I was more upset to turn 30 than I was to turn 35. I think I am more worried about 40 than I am 35.
Why was I freaked out about 30? I was freaked out because it officially made me old to the 16-year-old I still thought myself to be. In the sense that you don’t trust people over 30. It was one of those moments when I realized I was in a totally new world. At 30 I was making decisions and determining they true to who I imagined myself to be. At 30 I was still pretty broke and painfully aware I needed to get a new job. I was also new to a town and knew nobody. I was struggling at 30 to remember that it would be ok if I just chugged along.
At 35 I am in a wonderful place and about to finish a number of things I took on at 30. I am nearly done with my second masters degree. I have a year under my belt at that new job I knew I needed 5 years ago. I found the friends I had been looking for and built a family of people I want to surround myself with. I have done things I never considered at 30: owning a home and considering what retirement will really look like. I have been to Paris, San Francisco, Seattle, Germany and I am going to Chicago in a month. I knit with yarn I never even dreamed I could afford 5 years ago.
For the next three years I am already considering what I want to accomplish. I am more confident that I can do anything I want because I survived the last 5 years. So bring it on 35. Carrie has nothing on me.
