Yesterday was my last day of answering the question "How old are you?" with something that began with twenty. I am actually quite happy to be rolling the odometer into the thirties. It's adding distance to the silliness of my youth in a concrete fashion. I probably won't think in those terms once the big four-oh draws near, of course, but three-oh tain't nearly so big or imposing. It's a bit of a relief, a marker to many that I'm a real, honest-to-goodness, no foolin' adult.
I added to the notoriety of the day by acknowledging my body is indeed another year older: I bought an ergonomic mouse, wrist pad, and medicine-ball-as-desk-chair. All this because, at the tender age of 30, my body likes to pretend it's 50. Also, just to further drive in the point that I am now a serious adult, we puttered around the big RV dealership this afternoon, edumacatin' ourselves on costs, types, features, financing, engines, etc. Not that we're anywhere near ready or able to buy one, but it's part of our once Drew's out of the nest/retirement plans, so it don't hurt to learn up as early as possible.
And, as has happened at least once before but I think maybe twice, I share my birthday with Father's Day, which made for some fun passing the buck of who got to sleep in this morning between me and Mark. And, because we're just that sweet, we were arguing not about wanting it for our own self, but about letting the other have it. (We compromised: Mark slept in until just after 8, then got up to relieve me so I could nap until just after 9.)
So, now I am a thirtysomething. Most of the twenties were fun, and I was even able to get mostly over myself before they ended. The decade started with me in college, wondering just how in the heck my mother could have possibly gotten married as young as I felt. The decade ended with me in a completely different career track than I had anticipated, married with a toddler, and living in our own home. My last day as a twentysomething was spent driving back from Canyon de Chelly (featuring the ruins of an ancient civilization), taking the long way through Arizona's east central high plains and mountains, twisting and turning my way down the elevation to get back home, drinking in the amazing scenery of this beautiful state that claimed me at the age of 18 and waited patiently for ten years until I was able to return for good.
Not a bad way to end what society considers the last cusp of my youth.