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Birthday Musing

I am turning 30 Sunday.

Unlike my father, I care not about aging. It is inevitable, and I have largely felt better about myself—more secure, more confident—as the years have passed. Turning 30 is simply a thing, rather than A Thing.

I’m not where I thought I’d be, though I’m not sure I know exactly where I wanted to be, at this point. Definitely in a relationship leading to marriage, which is no where near on the horizon. Thinking back to my last few Relationships, it is far better that I am single than with any of them. Better single than miserable. My career isn’t what I expected at 30, either, but it’s not bad, though I think it’s time to move on to something else as well...whatever that may be.


I’m waiting for the inevitable physical changes—the glasses that, if genetics from both parents prove true, will be needed this year or in the foreseeable future. I’d love for my skin to give me a fucking break and stop thinking I’m 16 again. And goddamn, why must I fall deep into the stereotype of a raging late-20s/early30s libido when I am woefully single and can only get sex intermittently? I feel bad for my recent (good) sex partners when I’m asking for rounds 2 and 3 and they’re just like “are you kidding me?” No, no I am not—why is your penis not working?

For those in the know—What are the best and worst things about being in your 30s?

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