Turning 31

Last year on March 5, I was so happy. None of that existential angst that most Americans (especially single women) face on their 30^th birthday. I went out with 20 of my new best friends in Asuncion, drank margaritas and danced til dawn. I was exactly where I wanted to be, so pleased with the direction my life was taking, and really at peace.

I’ll turn 31 in a few weeks, though, and I’m not quite as pleased. I’m still happy with the way my life is going and all – it’s just that 31 seems, well, old. Much older than 30 somehow. Also it makes me think that I’ll be 32 when I get back to the States, if I go to grad school I’ll be 34 when that’s done, starting a new career around 35. I’m almost THIRTY FIVE. You could have a midlife crisis at 35, couldn’t you? That’s how old moms are (sometimes even grandmas), and grown ups on tv, and people with careers and homes and lives that are much more complex and, I don’t know, grounded somehow than mine. Most thirty five year olds could not just pack up and join Peace Corps, for example. Though I guess most 29 year olds don’t either.

Maybe the problem with 31 is that it’s nothing special, just another step on the way to 35. And even though I know that my life is moving forward here in ways I can’t even explain, it’s also strange to see my peers moving on in other ways, like marriages and babies. I know I’m not in any position to be thinking about, and don’t actually want, either of those right now, but will I ever? And deciding I want either is only part of the process of actually getting it. Maybe the biggest problem with 31 is that I have so much time to think about it.