In two weeks, I’m going to be 29 and I’m a little freaked out about it.
And by little, I mean I’ve spent the past month mentally listing every insecurity ever (alphabetically, numerically, from most to least psychologically jarring) and chewing my bottom lip to shreds.
Hey gang! You know who’s the most fun person in the world? An emotionally unstable 28-year-old with chapped lips and a penchant for power-pop, gin and cursing!
Twenty-nine is dancing cheek-to-cheek with 30 and thirty? That is the decade of big changes – home ownership, parenthood and abandonment of the notion that Diet Coke constitutes as breakfast.
It’s all utterly terrifying.
Even more so because you know, I’m the only person in the history of ever to turn 29 and have apprehension about adulthood and all that it entails.
A third-life crisis like this is to be expected but I swear, goddamn Facebook just exacerbates the whole thing because now, I’m wrist-deep in information about people with their living rooms that look like a spread in an Anthropologie catalog and their chubby-cheeked babies and their travel to exotic locales because fuck you, job! Health benefits are for wusses!
(And no, it’s not as easy as disconnecting from Facebook because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to watch awesome videos of my nephew saying he loves me. Twice.)
I’m trying to listen to myself and keep it in check, but it’s tough. Insecurity gremlins are pernicious little beasties and just when you think you’d smacked them all away, one shows up and tears into you like a ravening wolf going after a limping gazelle.
So to quote The Police – I’m sending out an SOS:
How do you deal with this stuff?
How do you handle those moments where your life seems to freeze-frame and you ask, “What the hell am I doing?!” Those moments where the seemingly solid ground beneath your feet turns to pudding and you scramble to find footing. Those moments where you become the dog.
This is one of those times I really wish my life was an episode of My So-Called Life.
Firstly, my life would open with really great theme music and then, I’d go through this crisis for like, 35 minutes but in the final nine – there would be some spark of resolution.
Ricky would say something profound to me in the girls bathroom or I’d call a temporary ceasefire on wanting to stab Patty with my salad fork and we’d have a great talk in the kitchen or Jordan Catalano – Jordan fucking Catalano would look at me in the hallway in that way that only Jordan Catalano can do and I’d know what to do.
And even if I didn’t, who cares because, hello? Did you see the way Jordan Catalano looked at me?