I recently celebrated a birthday whose arrival nearly traumatized me.
Back in the dark ages when I turned 21, I knew it to be the last birthday I would welcome with open arms.
Back in the dark ages when I turned 21, I knew it to be the last birthday I would welcome with open arms.
Yet, nerd that I am, instead of
partying I studied for a quiz in Victorian literature class, only
taking a break to go to the grocery store to buy a bottle of wine (and I
wasn’t even carded!).
I am baffled that the verb “study” is part of my 21st
birthday memory. I had this sense (and it stayed with me throughout my
20s) that I would party when I graduated. But I kept going to school.
And so I spent the remainder of my 20s in grad school, hoping like hell
I’d finish before I hit 30, so I could really celebrate my life.
I had
so many plans for everything I’d be by the time I was 30. I’d have my
Ph.D., a teaching job, a fabulous boyfriend, a down payment on a house,
and a Roth IRA.
In
reality, I turned 30 with none of these items. I was still in grad
school, T.A.’ing for lousy wages, single, renting, and in debt. So I did
what all people who are about to turn 30 without having realized their
dreams should do: I went to Vegas.
My best
friend and I gambled, ate, drank, shopped, Jacuzzi-ed, laughed, and
danced all night (at an Etta James concert at the House of Blues).
I love
those indulgent verbs: drink, shop, laugh, dance. And, after I turned
30, more exciting verbs came my way: graduate, move, and teach.
But as I
officially settle into my mid-30s, I find the verbs that fill my life
now describe the upkeep of my aging body: tweeze, pluck, wax, shave,
pumice, exfoliate, moisturize, file, and steam. After 30, I discovered,
it’s all maintenance.
It now
takes me 30 minutes to go to bed. Gone are the days when I could chew on
a toothbrush, splash some water on my face, and call it good.
Apparently my gums are receding so fast that pretty soon I’ll be
flossing my skull, so I need a special toothbrush. Now before bed I’m
Sonicare-ing, flossing, cleansing, toning, and moisturizing. And that’s
just from the neck up! My hands and feet require cuticle oil and lotion
to keep dry skin at bay, and only after a final coat of shea butter on
my hands can I call it a night.
And I’m calling it a night much earlier. In college, 4am seemed late. Now, I start the going-to-bed procedure at 9pm,
even on the weekends! Recently, a friend invited me to a concert on
campus (a 30 second walk from where I live), but I begged off, claiming
an exhausting work week and tired feet. That night I was in bed, covers
up to my chin and watching a re-run of House, M.D. at 9:30pm. On a Friday night!
Despite
all the maintenance and extra hours of sleep, my body is falling apart.
I can’t brush my teeth in the morning without a bib. My mouth muscles
are apparently atrophying because I can’t seem to brush without
dribbling toothpaste on my blouse. My feet and ankles are so stiff in
the morning that I hobble like a drunken sailor to the bathroom. And I
found grey hairs….that weren’t on my head.
So when
I celebrated my 35th birthday recently, I inwardly groaned. I figure
that it’s only a matter of time until bedtime and dinnertime are
separated by only an hour, until brushing my teeth involves removing
them from my gum-less mouth and putting them in effervescing water, and
until moisturizing my feet requires hearty layers of Vaseline rather
than light lotion.
But 5 year safter my 30th
birthday, even though my body (and especially mymetabolism!) have
started to betray me, some of my goals have been realized. I graduated,
found a great teaching job, met a terrific fella, and invested in
TIAA-Cref.
I’m
still renting, but I see a little house in my future with room for
plenty of new verbs like reading, writing, talking, listening, feeling,
loving, and, as always, moisturizing.
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