I turned thirty a few months ago, and I’ve had a hard time with it. I don’t mourn the loss of my youth—I know LOTS of folks who are youthful and vigorous in their forties—I just had a nagging sense of wonderment. I wondered when I grew up. I am still sometimes shocked that I am an adult. I’ve been one for twelve years already (at least legally, on paper), but I’ve never taken myself seriously. I still feel like I’m doing something wrong when I go into a liquor store… I’m usually pretty sure they are going to ask me to leave. I also feel strange traveling. Make no mistake. By the time I was eighteen, I was a pro at airports. Because of our school schedules, my sister and I flew to join my parents on vacation when I was only 16. We drove to the airport, got on a plane in Houston, and flew to California, all without any parental oversight at all. This was not uncommon for me, nor was it very heroic, but I STILL think it was pretty cool, and that was almost half my lifetime ago. For some reason, whenever I travel, make a major purchase, or any other really “adult-type thing,” I feel like a little kid, that I don’t belong doing what I’m doing. I literally can’t believe they are letting me spend grown-up amounts of money, or letting me be responsible for thier car or hotel room. I AM a bit more comfortable being a grown up than I used to be. As I grow older, I think folks take me much more seriously than they did in the past, and I likewise take myself more seriously. It’s one of the privileges of growing older, I guess.

There’s got to be SOME kind of good to come from it, because I am sometimes SO STIFF when I get out of bed in the morning, and I find myself requiring more sleep than I used to. Mom says that gets much worse. YUCK! At least I’ll be taken seriously when I complain about it.