Welcome to the best decade of your life! Unless you’re 35.
This is the age at which you question everything tangentially related to the meaning of life. “Fuck, I’m not married yet” or “Fuck, why the hell did I get married so early?” might be running through your head, for instance. It’s a milestone age of sorts: You’re wondering why you’re not the boss yet, why you haven’t started that novel yet, and why you’re nowhere near as put-together as your parents were at your age. The upside? You're questioning everything because you are much more aware of what you really want out of life, and, maybe, you’re more likely to really work for what you want out of life. (Bonus: You can officially run for president at 35, if that's your thing.)
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Welp. You're almost 40, so, yeah. Sorry. It's like the panic attack you had about turning 30 all over again, except now you have twice as many gray hairs and use wrinkle cream on a daily basis and maybe have a kid or a dog to look after. "How did this even HAPPEN?!?!" you ask yourself, out loud, in the mirror every morning. Maybe every night. The good news is, unlike turning 30, you’re probably ready to get on with your forties (at least so you can stop hearing the old-person jokes). Also, you probably still have half your life to live (or more, if you live in Switzerland or Japan), so there's that.
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OK, let's be real: You're actually 30 for, like, three years, because you've been preparing for/freaking out about this age since you hit your mid-twenties. Get over it, you lil weenie! If it weren't for 90% of people sending themselves into a goddamn tizzy all because there's a "3" in front of their age now, 30 would easily be No. 1 BECAUSE BEING 30 IS AWESOME. Too bad you're too busy counting all the non-existent lines on your face and crying yourself to sleep every night because you're single/without children/don't own a home/aren't where you want to be in your career, because you COULD be out having the time of your life while you're still young enough to get away with blacking out in a corner of a bar that smells like cheeseballs and shame after making out with a stranger. So go out and go do that. Right now. And let's start a movement.
Fuck. This is official late-thirties territory. Stuff is starting to sag. The power of retinol holds more value than your own flesh and blood. You could potentially be a grandparent without even having been a teen mom. You can't even throw back the brewskies the way you used to after work because NEWSFLASH: Two-day hangovers are real life. But at least you have your shit together (or mostly together), and it doesn't faze you too much, because you've got more important things to do than waste your weekdays worrying about the elasticity of your skin or your weekends drinking yourself into oblivion — your career is probably in full swing, and you've learned to surround yourself only with the people and things that truly make you happy.
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