In less than two weeks I will turn 30 years old.
Typing that out without immediately deleting it and closing my laptop shut is a big step. A step that a non-twenty-something would do, I think. Think, as in, I’m desperately hanging on to 29; clawing at the awning my youth seems to be hanging off of.
…I’m still staring at the first sentence, wanting to delete it.
But I won’t.
This past month has been quite difficult. There was a moment where a personal relationship was in true jeopardy, after false accusations were made and I, for once in my life, told the truth and actually had someone not believe me. That was definitely not something I wanted to enter my thirties experiencing.
I’ve also been debating the path my career should take….debating is too kind of a word. More like agonizing. Yes, that sounds incredibly more dramatic, something someone on the brink of 30 would say. Agonizing because I just can’t shake the reality that becoming a department head, in the field that I’m in, requires a PhD. Which I wouldn’t mind going back to school for, but it’s the time. The time is what bothers me, and as for someone who is reaching a known “milestone” in age, a large sacrifice of time is not appealing.
And then there’s the clock.
You knew it was going to come down to marriage and babies right? I mean, isn’t that what all women want?
Well honestly, I thought in my twenties that I was not one of those women.
And now I have Bieber, I mean, baby fever. But I wouldn’t exactly call it baby fever. Perhaps it’s more of a, “I’m not where I thought at age 20, where I would be in my life at age 30,” ie married, career set until retirement, and maybe pregnant. Maybe.
I blame Facebook.
I feel with this constant social networking, social connection, whatever you want to call it, people, especially women, no, especially me, feel the societal pressures of getting married and knocked up.
Facebook’s newsfeed basically tells me on an everyday (ok, who are we kidding, I check it more than once a day) basis that 99.9% of my “friends” are either married, knocked up, in the process of getting knocked up (ew), or updating their status to tell me how many centimeters dilated they are and they’re going to drop that watermelon-sized fetus on the floor of <insert name of Boston’s best hospital> within the hour (also ew).
Am I the only one that is going crazy from this? Probably, seeing that I’m only 0.1% left of my friends that isn’t one of the above mentioned statuses.
Sure, I could discontinue my Facebook account. I could be even less dramatic (but if you’ve read this far already, you know that I cannot be “less dramatic”) and channel my inner computer-programming-nerd and change the settings so that I don’t see these updates. Or, I could just go on meds, which is what I’m almost coming to a conclusion to, as I sit here typing all of this out, at nearly 11 o’clock at night on Mother’s Day.
So what will the next two weeks bring? A meltdown after seeing one too many friends announcing their pregnancy on Facebook? My picking a fight with my boyfriend (I now hate that word because I feel I’m too old to be using it) because I’m crashing from a chocolate overdose that was self-induced from “eating my feelings?”
I honestly don’t know.