The Almost 30 Blues

I have a confession to make. In a few days I will be 29 and three-quarters. That's right, not quite 30 - but almost. But I have nothing to worry about right? According to Janet Jackson, 40 is the new 20, so that means soon I'll be celebrating my 10^th birthday. Right? Right?

Yeah, I know, "yeah right" is more like it. But one can dream. It's so funny that as a child I had vivid images of an adult life free of the slavery my parents were forcing upon me. But now, with the exception of a little more freedom, I would fight to get back to that childhood. Can you imagine it? The lack of responsibility. The promise of empty thoughts. The luck of climbing a tree, getting bruised and not needing your own insurance (or having to succumb to belittling glares) to get bandaged up. My mother told me that one day I would be grown and look back on my life having these thoughts, but I about laughed in her face when she said it. Now I about cry in her lap.

As my time rapidly approaches, I realize that turning 30 represents the official right of passage into adulthood, unlike the common misconception that 21 is that age. Trust me, I've been 21 before, and nowhere in that timeframe was I an adult. Nowhere. As a matter of fact, I'm still not an adult. I've just done an Academy Award-winning job of acting out the role.

But now, there are no more excuses. There is no more room for childish behavior once I reach 30. I will officially have to put away my jump rope, Barbie Dolls, and teddy bears forever and whip out that check book, hair dye, and "Sweating to the Oldies" VHS cassette and accept the fact that I'm officially getting old (Sigh). And just in case I thought I could avoid it with the power of my mind, the power of my body has been working hard to remind me of my impending doom. First, my eyesight started becoming less-than-perfect. Of course, I still don't wear glasses; I just take the initiative to squint a lot more. Then I decided one day to jump Double Dutch (you know, jumping with two ropes instead of one) with some neighborhood girls. After a few instances of getting tangled in the ropes my body reminded itself of how to jump and I was an old pro. That is until I woke up the next morning unable to force my aching muscles to pull me out of bed. Then of course, I noticed that my "forever young" waistline began to expand suddenly while everything else seemed to get smaller. "What the heck is going on here?" I thought. "Oh yeah ... I'm almost 30."

But could it be that bad? I mean, look at Sex and the City. They all looked good as they approached or surpassed 40. I can do the same, can't I? Or can I do one better? Maybe, turning 30 and accepting my right of passage into adulthood is really an encouraging time in life where I can recognize the importance of inner beauty and let go of the societal pressures to sustain a size 4 figure. Maybe I can move in a new direction toward spirituality and self-sustenance, learning to love from the inside out, instead of vice versa. Maybe I can finally realize that sex is an expression of love, not a prerequisite to determine someone's worthiness of it. Maybe I can set a new precedent for my next 30 years, building a positive foundation that will move me in new directions, while setting an example for those who come behind me. Maybe it's time for me to take on my newfound responsibility with passion and courage, evolving into the person I've always wanted to be while shedding my old skin. Maybe it's time for me to (dare I say it?) grow up.

All of these things run across my mind as I approach the new Wonder Years. I see now that this is my chance to make my mark in life. Will I succeed? Will I surpass any goals I've laid out for myself? I am inclined to say yes, but only time will tell that daunting tale. So for now, I sit at 29 and three quarters, enjoying my last days as a kid, running a comb through by Barbie Doll's hair, and giving my teddy bears a last kiss goodnight. It is time to start fresh. And, believe it or not, I think I'm ready for the challenge. Of course, that's if it's not be too late for me to start over again. Let's see if it works. Try to wake me up from this horrific dream. Go ahead. Pinch me. Ouch! Damn ... I'm still 29.

All right, let's get this show on the road.