(Do) Good things come in Threes?

Three months and counting...until the big three-oh (30). I'd like to pretend that this doesn't concern me, that it's just a number and I can cope perfectly well with change of all sorts...but obviously, that would be a big fat lie. There's something symbolic about thirty... as if it's the final hurdle to true adulthood and once past it, you can no longer consider quitting your job and backpacking through India, piercing your tongue, or wearing your hair in pigtails. Might as well just give up, sit back in my Ikea kitted out apartment, work late nights to further my, "career," and add to my wine rack. Except that I don't have an Ikea kitted out apartment, my career appears to be, "on-hold" and my commitment to it tenuous at best, and any wine that enters my house gets consumed before it could form any semblence of a collection. ...And therein lies the problem. I think I assumed that I would have it all figured out by now, that I would have published a novel, become the new basquiat or Beth Orton, won a gold medal in the Olympics, or at least turned into a jaded but successful corporate whore with a plasma screen TV and open-plan flat. Thirty always seemed both so old and so far away... and here it is. And I'm still broke, still renting, still trying to sort out a viable career that doesn't make me want to rip my hair out, and still waiting to be able to go into some yuppie wine-bar and drink expensive bottles of French wine without looking at the price tag.

I know, I know...poor me with my oh-so difficult life. I do realise that I've got it really, really, good in comparison to many and I honestly do appreciate that. But Thirty does give one pause and I really can't help but take stock and ask myself if my life is living up to my expectations (which admittedly are a little high.) I think I will raise my kids to be happy janitors. ;) When I was a kid, I really thought that I was special, that I would grow up to be an exemplary adult and I would change the world in some way or accomplish something really notable. Remember those books about Harriet Tubman, or Thomas Edison or the guy who invented penicillin that you used to read in school... and your teachers would give you that schpiel about how these people believed in themselves and distinguished themselves from the pack and all that cult of individuality stuff. Maybe they should have just told us straight up: You guys are not that special and most likely you will grow up to be middle managers or sell car stereos, or work in a toothpaste factory and the sooner you get used to that idea, the better. Oh and while we're at it, there's no Santa Claus and no Easter Bunny and someday a long way in the future, you will probably have no teeth and need to wear adult diapers. Maybe they should just get it all out of the way early and spare us the disappointment. ;)

On a more positive note, I suppose turning thirty makes me realise that, in the words of the prophetic, John "Cougar" Mellencamp, "your life is now." There's no putting off your dreams... so I guess I had better start writing my novel now. ;)