Being 30

Bye-bye, big three-oh.

I’m thankful to Josh Baskin in Big and to Jenna Rink in 13 Going on 30 for making being a 30-year-old into something desirable and cool—even for a couple of baby-faced kids on the brink of becoming teenagers.  And I’m thankful to my mom for rolling her eyes and laughing at the chatty, desperate-for-a-girlfriend guy who worked at our local grocery store when he dramatically lamented that he was turning “the big three-oh” when we failed to avoid him in the frozen food section one day.  I’m also thankful to my little sister who used to look from the face-contorting, midriff-baring teens in our dELiA*s catalogs to the more mature-looking models with crow’s feet and tougher-textured skin in J. Crew and shockingly remark, “I think people become even more attractive when they get into their 30s.”  And, finally, I’m thankful to Jesus, who started his ministry at the age of 30.  I realize that final shout-out might sound kind of ridiculous and out-of-place amongst the others in my list, but really, if you think about it—and I have quite a bit—30 does not get much cooler than that.

Having been held back the year after Kindergarten, I turned 30 before most of the people from my graduating class.  It used to embarrass me that while everyone else was turning 12, I was turning 13, or when they were turning 18, I was turning 19, and so forth and so on, so much so that I wouldn’t correct the kids who wrote the wrong ages on the birthday cards they gave to me, and whenever one of my well-meaning friends would unfailingly correct them, I’d unfailingly wish they hadn’t. 

Maybe it’s just that I’m beyond my schooling years now and have friends of varying ages, but it didn’t bother me so much turning 30 ahead of those past peers as it did when I was in my teens and twenties.  In fact, throughout this past year, it’s been my great delight to cheer those friends and former classmates on as they’ve announced their transition to being ten times three in hesitatingly happy-sounding Facebook posts.  I feel like I’m giving them a virtual high five as I exuberantly key in comments like, “You’re gonna love it!” and, as a personal nod to Jenna Rink, “You’re 30, flirty, and thriving!”  And, if I’d have thought of it before now, “Thrice is nice!”  I feel like I’ve done a complete 180 from my younger years in that I actually now feel privileged to be one of few flunkies to have bravely gone before.  

So why all this enthusiasm for the thirtieth year?  Part of it could be due to the fact that May 2013-May 2014 carried a number of exceptional experiences for me personally, like watching my infant daughter grow into a talkative, top-of-the-head-ponytail-wearing toddler.  Witnessing the first year of a first child’s life is something that truly enhances a person’s existence, giving even the most mundane activities a much more magical quality, so that definitely could play a role in my sudden surge of third decade spirit. 

It could also have something to do with the unusual amount of face-to-face interactions I’ve had with long-distance friends and family over the past twelve months, which, I’m sure, have partly been a product of my recent plunge into parenthood, as well as those of two of my sisters and two sisters-in-law.  (Who doesn’t want to meet the wee ones of their loved one, after all?) 

Or perhaps it’s because of all of the trips I’ve gotten to take—from northern Minnesota, to Colorado, to family camping trips in the Big Horn mountains, to two-week reunions in the Sunshine State with my closest friend from college.  And I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that I meticulously marked each major event and milestone all the way through this past February on Alice’s first year calendar, keeping every affair especially sharp in my oftentimes muddled memory.  However unintentionally, I’ve found that keeping an account of an entire year—both its more humdrum days and its highlights—can be an excellent technique for counting one’s blessings, and thereby making one feel grateful. 

So maybe I just feel so sure about being in my thirties because I’ve had a great introduction.  But I really think there is more to it than that.  I think a lot of it has to do with how far a person has come in life in order to get there.  To me, being able to say you’re 30 means you’ve more than likely learned some hard lessons along the way, that in a lot of life’s areas, you’ve learned what works and what doesn’t, and that hopefully, you’ve turned into someone that not only others, but you can generally trust as well. 

I’m not saying that to hit “the big three-oh” (to quote the freckle-faced grocery store worker) means that you’ve somehow arrived.  No, I’m saying that, from my perspective, a person’s 30s are just the beginning to those stages in life where wisdom comes just a tad more naturally—where we start to sport some seasoning upon our souls and skin—seasoning that my perceptive younger sister saw as beauty.

To me, being 30 seems so sturdy and so sure as opposed to my earlier years.  Perhaps it has something to do with three dimensions being stronger than two, a cube being more advanced than a square, and a cord of three strands being harder to break (Ecclesiastes 4:12). 

And, not that I’m the superstitious type, but it’s no secret that three is widely considered to be a lucky number.   I wonder if that’s why genies grant three wishes in fairy tales, why three cheers are offered up for successes, and why it’s said that good things always come in threes.   Personally, I’m most fascinated by the number’s symbolic status in Scripture—from the three gifts that were presented to Jesus as an infant, to Jesus’s being resurrected on the third day at the age of 33, to the three members of the holy Trinity.  The number simply seems to stick with you when you’ve spent any significant amount of time studying the Bible. 

Finally, three is a prime number, which makes it perfectly fitting that being in this decade of ten times three (and beyond) would feel so prime.  OK—that may be stretching things just a bit, but seriously, I’ve felt better at the age of 30 than I have at any other stage in my life, and I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I have a pretty good idea of who I am, how certain situations make me feel, and what the best ways are to experience victory in those situations.  For example, I know how I spontaneously start singing worship songs when I’m recalling something I feel embarrassed about, and how, even though worship songs are wonderful things, it’s not a wonderful thing for me to start singing them in those moments—though it’s actually more like I’m chanting them—because, rather than worshipping, what I’m really doing is just using the songs to chase away the bad feelings of shame and embarrassment rather than asking God to speak His truth into those memories so they don’t keep coming back to revisit me. 

I also know how, ever since I was a little girl, large gatherings of females have made me inexplicably uneasy, no matter how nice or welcoming those ladies may be, and how I always feel like a jerk for admitting I didn’t enjoy myself upon my return from the get-togethers.  Though some may disagree, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s entirely OK to opt out of some such meetings to simply to spare myself the feelings unnecessary guilt and discomfort. 

I know how my face turns bright red when I get nervous, like when I have to speak in front of a crowd, and even when other people start offering me those all-to-familiar pained, I-want-to-help-you expressions, the best thing for me to do is to just keep pushing through because I almost always eventually relax. 

And finally, I’ve figured out that buying two Egg McMuffins at a time for breakfast is not a good idea.  Although I already discovered this personal rule-of-them years ago, I decided to re-test my theory on an early-morning, grumbly-tummied errand run earlier this week.  Three quarters of the way through my first eggy indulgence, I realized I’d judged rightly the first time.  I forced the second one down, but it was only because God didn’t grant my request of driving past an obviously hungry-looking person on my way home and I would’ve felt guilty wasting the money. 

And so, as I blow the candles out on my year of being 30, I’d like to conclude that, more than anything, it has been because of the hope I have in the Lord that, like that famous woman described in Proverbs, I can laugh at the days to come.  And how fitting it is that that passage comes from none other than…

Chapter 31.