I can think of nothing more boring than whining about one’s age. I mean, get on with it, already. There’s nothing any of us can do to stop getting older. But boy, oh boy have recent events kicked off an early-mid-life, late-quarter-life crisis which I wasn’t having nor planning to have a month ago. The cusp of thirty didn’t seem like that big a deal to me. It still doesn’t, intellectually.
But I will confess: I sat on the A-train last night at 11:30 pm, completely exhausted and wanting nothing more than to crawl into my warm bed with a book. As I listened to music and absentmindedly watched the other people, I realized that the two guys opposite me, pink-cheeked and 22ish, were perhaps looking across the aisle and seeing a 30ish woman, me. When did this happen?! Granted, it’s not like I see those kids as my peers — but I don’t feel far removed from them.
Addition to the list of things I’m angry about: transferring YOUR mid-life crisis to me.