In a few weeks I'm making that big leap to the big three-oh. I know I look like I'm 22, sometimes even 19, but there's no denying that I'm inevitably a victim of the passing of time. Not that I'm particularly terrorized by age. In fact since in my early twenties I've been wishing I'm thirty-something instead.
I started working when I was 21 and at that time my colleagues were mostly in their early to mid 30s. Mingling with these people, they caught my fancy right away.
I was struck by their aura of confidence and savoire-faire, versus my self-consciousness for instance. Many of them had a good career experience so they were always decisive at work and could face all kinds of people with ease.
As I got closer to my colleagues, I was endlessly captured by the stories of their lives. I was a rapt listener to their anecdotes. Some had gone through failed relationships but emerged from these experiences stronger. Some were doting parents to their kids and could think beyond their limited self-interests.
I don't know, they seem to just live much fuller lives and are not drawn to the impulses and recklessness of the young.
Another colleague said we should enjoy our twenties because it's that time of our lives when we're most physically beautiful and desirable, and when we reach our thirties everything just starts to sag. (OMG, I should've listened! I used to take for granted - even hate - my metabolism. Sigh.)
In fact, our twenties is a time when we supposedly find out who we are, what we believe in, our convictions. Figuring those out is one of the foundations of facing life with confidence, I was told.
My experience with my friends in their 30s somehow influenced me to attach "maturity", "stability", and "self-confidence" to a specific age range. I must've overlooked the fact that not everyone younger than thirty is immature and the other way around.
Well, obviously I romanticized thirty-something-hood (and beyond).