All my life, especially when I was little, I remember such a kerfuffle being made about Turning Thirty ™. Lots of jokes, but also lots of angst and lamenting.
I remember my mother being so upset when she turned 30. I was a month or so into kindergarten. My continuity of memory picks up at about the point my mother was 29 years old. Over the past year or so, my memories of my mother’s 29th year have been overlaid on my real-time experiencing of my own, creating a double exposure that has been somewhat disorienting even before the haze of unreality that has shadowed the last year or so. We live in strange times.
Today is my 30th birthday. I am no longer standing on the verge. I’ve jumped. My canopy is full, and the scenery defies description.
