30

It's one week until my 30th birthday.  I'm sure there are worse birthdays than the big 3-0.  Maybe 50?  But at the age of 29 you probably haven't experienced an age crisis yet, so that makes this one extra difficult.  I had a mild crisis at 26 when I realized I was half the age my mother was when she died - a bit of a "half-life" crisis, I suppose.  But it was relatively short-lived (haha), especially if you get all existential and realize any day could be your last.  

So why do I seem to be taking thirty so hard?  A lot of it stems from the identity I've had most of my life as the youngest - youngest kid in the grade, youngest in my hiring class at work, I even appreciate it somewhat that Josh is eight months older than me.  Being the youngest might seem like a curse to some, but it always made me feel special - like I stood out for my precociousness.  But now I'm not the youngest anymore.  And until I decide to enter a retirement home early, I won't be again. 

Unfortunately, no amount of anxiety can stop next Friday from coming either.  So I guess that means I have a week to embrace it.  Or to find a few stiff drinks ...