Some days, I approach this whole turning 30 thing with a kind of detached indifference. Other days, it’s almost approaching panic…as if 30 were some sort of mysterious deadline. For what, exactly, I’m not sure. What is the big IT I was supposed to have accomplished?

I was having a conversation (via email) on this topic yesterday, which began with the comment that some women have a sort of “mid-life crisis” at 30:

hmmm…a LOT of women (and even some men…) have a difficult time with turning 30. One friend was so down that we didn’t even go out on her birthday. She wanted to pretend that it didn’t exist.

It has a lot to do, I think, with the expectations we set for ourselves…and making peace with the fact that we aren’t where we thought we’d be. I, for example, was “supposed” to be a whole lot more settled. Married. House. Maybe a baby or two. And I was supposed to be well-established in my chosen career at this point, without a doubt.

But instead, I’m single, scraping by on meager salaries from two part-time jobs, sharing an apartment with my best friend, and just beginning my “real” career. What’s up with that? 🙂

I did some futher pondering on this yesterday, after a lunchtime conversation with coworkers started to go the direction of marriage and children and how it’s more difficult to concieve the longer you wait…yada yada.

I have a tough time with this one, not because the tick of my biological clock has reached a thunderous level, and not because I’m filled with longing for a baby now.

No, what bothers me is the idea that women “should” or “shouldn’t” have babies at a particular age…or the idea that it’s always a choice. I am (almost) 30, and I am single. I’m okay with this. But did I choose it? No, not really. I was with a guy in college for three years, and I believed I was going to marry him. That didn’t work out. I dated for four years after that, but didn’t find anyone I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. I spent two and a half years with assboy, believing (again) that I was going to marry him. That didn’t work out either. So here I am. It’s not what I would have chosen, and it’s not how I thought it would be, but it is what IS. In those 4 years after K, should I have, what, tried harder to find a husband? Uh oh, I need to be married and have babies. You, you’ll do.

I don’t think so…