The Big 3-4

I'm writing this post on the eve of my thirty-fourth birthday, though you're likely reading it after the day has arrived.

This birthday is not going down easily. It tastes bitter and acidic.

When I turned 30, I thought I had come to terms with getting older. It wasn't that big of a deal, I thought. Then again, I actually remember 29 being pretty difficult to swallow. Which I suppose is accurate in light of this year's birthday reaction. I seem to be more affected by the year leading up to the "big ones" than I am by the big ones themselves.

It's kind of like being at an amusement park and waiting in line for the scariest ride. The whole time you're in line the anticipation and anxiety builds, your stomach flip-flops, and your palms sweat. Your heart races as they harness you into your seat. The ride starts and you feel light-headed.

But then you laugh.

And scream.

And raise your hands with abandon.

And when it's all over, you say, "Well that wasn't so bad now, was it? It was actually kind of fun." Yet the next time you go to an amusement park and get in line for that ride, your body reacts the same way. Your mind can't override the anxiety with the reality that it's never as bad as we think it will be.

That's where I am now. In line, anticipating the arrival of 35 and all the turbulence, flips, and vertical drops of possible failures, disappointments, and age-related defects that I might experience when I get there.

Let's hope a year from now I can say, "Well that wasn't so bad now, was it?"