30: The new 29

I’ve been in a philosophical mood lately.  You could chalk it up to a number of things–the birth of my daughter, another summer spent lamenting the end of summer vacations, or the fact that last weekend was, well, the last weekend, of my 20s.  It’s been a great decade for me personally and professionally, and it was witness to a lot of milestones.  For example, my 20s saw me graduate from college and law school, find a job, meet my wife and get married, buy and sell a first house, and have my first child.  That’s a lot of living to cram into 10 years.  The last decade has also been tough at times–I’ve lost family and friends, but let’s not dwell on that.

To avoid making this an elegy for my twenties, let me switch gears.  Staring down the barrel at 30 is a good way to get your facts in order and take stock of things.  For starters, I don’t have a list of accomplishments that I am going to rush out to complete this week, like a sitcom plot gone awry.  Looking back on how far I have come, I’d say that I crossed off more items than I ever could imagine putting on the list in the first place.   That’s a comforting thought, although it’s not like I am out of time to do anything anyway.  With my generation, there’s good chance that I will end up into my forties before I can truly say that half my life is over.

I also don’t know what to expect from the next ten years.  At 20, it was easy to forecast where I was headed.  I was one year away from college graduation, and that, coupled with a three-year law school, had my calendar booked up to 25.  Thirty’s not the same.  Sure,  there will be some memorable moments, but, for the first time, my next decade’s milestones are likely to measured by someone else’s progress.  There will be first steps, first words, first days at school, and plenty of other firsts that will keep me busy for the next ten years and beyond.  By the way, if I have any say (which I won’t), there won’t be any first dates until I’m crossing over into my fifties.

The best thing about that is how comfortable I am.  At 20, you’re still growing into your own skin.  Comfort comes in fits and starts.  At best, you can start something new and adapt quickly.  By thirty, I’ve managed to wear some tread off my tires.  I expect plenty of curveballs and surprises thrown my way over the next decade.  But, by this point, I’ve adapted.  My world isn’t full of the endless possibilities that it was ten years ago, but that’s a good thing.  It’s a lot of pressure trying to figure out what to do with the rest of your life.  By now, I’ve chosen my path and stuck to it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  There is something so wonderful about knowing where you will end up everyday at the end of the day, and knowing that it will be filled with the people who you love.

So what will I feel like on Saturday morning when the odometer rolls over?  Probably the same that I did on Friday night, but, hopefully, better rested.  To close, I will leave you with a quote from one of my favorites, Albert Camus (assuming that the internet attributed it correctly):

At 30, a man should know himself like the palm of his hand, know the exact number of his defects and qualities, know how far he can go, foretell his failures–be what he is.  And, above all, accept these things.

Words to live by for the next decade, the start of which I plan to celebrate with a cold beer, some good cake, and maybe a diaper change or two (and I don’t mean my own).

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