ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT

Thirty years old is an odd place to be. You're a bit older than a decent portion of the population, so you don't fit in with them - - BUT, you're still significantly younger than everybody else, which means there isn't quite enough room for you in their ranks. Too old to be young, too young to be old.

And here i am, stuck in the middle with you. (its ok though. I like you.)

Unlike the majority of my peers, i didn't look forward to being 21. My birthday was not an exciting occasion for me. Being able to drink (legally) was not enough to offset my general uncomfortableness, awkwardness and cluelessness. I was an official adult, but i didn't feel like one.

My twenties passed by in a gaussian blur. People expected me to be an adult, so i assumed my role like any other self respecting person -- with as much hubris and machismo (wait..can females display machismo?) as I could muster. I was resolved to tackle life as it came at me. There were a whole lot of firsts then -- first job, first love, first heartbreak. First time being on a plane, first time leaving the country. First time understanding that sometimes its not your blood that is your closest relative.

These firsts made the transition from kid to adult, if not welcome, then exciting.

Still, it was in between these firsts that i often wondered when "feeling" like an adult kicked in. According to the numbers I was one, my physical appearance said i was one, and i certainly played the part when i walked out my front door every morning. Internally though? I was a mass of nerves. When would it be my turn to be cool calm and collected? When was i going to approach new hurdles with the jaded insouciance of one who has been down this road(s) before? When would i stop feeling butterflies when asked to make important decisions for myself? At my job? A job for which i still didn't feel qualified, but managed to land? How long could i keep on fooling them? Didn't "they" see the abject terror that lay just beneath the surface of my seeming calm? Weren't my eyes a dead giveaway? One day they would see me for what i was, a kid coming in to work in her mommy's clothes. And then what?

I assumed that by the time i reached my third decade i would be released from all these insecurities. I'd finally have some footing, some clarity, this adult thing would finally make sense. And why not? Thirty for most people means marriage, children, mortgages. All outward manifestations of being an adult. I mean they don't let you do those things unless you are a grown up right?

Funny thing is they do.

I recall laying in bed, the eve of my thirtieth birthday, viewing the stroke of midnight with something akin to dread. Dirty thirty, the age at which being "young" is no longer an excuse for... well anything. You're supposed to have your stuff together by now. The experimental 20s are behind you, now is for putting down roots. Time to leave life and all its wonderful eccentricities for the younger, more virile, cuter population to experience.

Crawl on that suttee and burn baby, burn.

The sins that were easily forgiven at 25 are not so much at thirty. By now you should know better.

The firsts are few and far between now. Its mostly a rehashing of experiences, different casts and settings give it variety, but a repeat all the same. And the repeats don't make me feel any more grown -- just old.

I expected to feel something when i entered this third decade. Unfettered desire to attend shows at the met, join the boards of some important community organization(s), put doilies over my prized pieces of furniture. You know, adult stuff.

Nunya.

Instead, i still get excited when i catch scooby doo on tv, buy star wars action figures, do the wop -- hard -- when a favorite song comes on, and i am not above reading, for the fifty millionth time, one of my prized collection of Nancy Drew Mysteries.

Whats that about?

Not that thirty has been all arrested development with a smattering of second childhood. I have made adult progress in certain areas. My body has never looked better(well when i'm treating it right that is.) The bank account has grown into something i'm proud of. The younger me was content to have just enough until the next check. I've made a decent amount of professional and personal accomplishments. I've made peace with a lot of my quirks. If its not harmful to myself or anybody else -- it is what it is. For the most part its been very very good to me.

But there's still part of me that feels like i'm playing a grown up instead of being one.

Sometimes i feel like adulthood was a present that was given to me -- and i have no idea what to do with it.

Do you mind if i regift?

Hall and Oates - One on One