It’s Halloween! It’s also my birthday. These combine to form Caseyween (alternatively Hallowbirthday), which is a week long celebration full of debauchery and cake and good times.
Unless you’re just having a quiet week wherein you mourn the loss of your halcyonian youth, which is what I’m opting to do this year. I’m thirty one years old. I don’t feel 31. When I was a kid, the thirtysomethings were these ever-mysterious grownups with kids and accounting jobs and lots of khakis. I’m not planning on having kids, and I love my job. . .but the place I’m at in life right now is not where I saw myself even ten years ago. I mean, I’m pretty satisfied with my state right now, but I have a lot of regrets. I should have stayed in Florida, I shouldn’t have transferred to UT, I should have been more ambitious. . .lots of shoulds in my life. I don’t know what to do with all of these shoulds, man!
(In actuality, there is nothing I can do with them except leave them in the past where they belong, but I’m very, very human and it’s just hard to let go of regret sometimes.)
Anyway, I’ve heard a lot of people say that the 30s don’t seem as old as they used to. I don’t know if it’s because people are getting younger all the time thanks to modern technology, or if it’s that “delayed adulthood” phenomenon we hear about so often in the media, or what. Maybe a mix of both. In any case, none of my friends resemble the impression I had of thirtysomethings either, even the ones with picket fence houses and kids. Or maybe nothing has changed – thirty year olds are as old as they’ve ever been, and the ten year olds I hand out candy to tonight will be all like “what a nice old lady.”