The number 30 is an airtight alibi. It is, because I say so.
I reached 30 years of age on April 7th of this year, and because an unwritten rule states that I was supposed to either have an epiphany or a psychotic episode at that point, I knew I would eventually write about it. But I wouldn't do it right away. I'm a logical person. All my 206 bones are still present and accounted for. When I examine my skin, I see that it has regenerated itself into pretty much the same pattern consistently, save a few new lines. The perfectly circular birthmark on the outside of my left ankle is still in the same spot; the little mole on my left ring finger hasn't moved a millimeter. My DNA double-helix has done nothing different in the last 30 years, so why would anything climactic happen to me between the night of April 6th and the morning of April 7th? Knowing that made me decide to wait to write about turning 30. I felt that there would be nothing to tell. And there really was nothing to tell.
At this point I have been 30 for three months. Absolutely nothing is different in my life. My body is the same; my circumstances, unchanged...I'm walking around with the same intellectual and emotional makeup. I didn't suddenly feel the need to sit out the dance, or lose my love of learning, or stop caring about my physical appearance, or cease to get misty-eyed watching YouTube videos of baby animal antics. But something has altered. The difference is nothing decidedly dramatic. I simply discovered that turning 30 is a wonderful excuse to start running my life differently, in ways I'd previously been afraid to. I know that what I do and how I choose to live are my decisions and have been for some time, but I'll be the first to admit that I've been a serial people-pleaser my entire life for reasons I won't bore anyone with on a Monday night. The reasons don't in fact matter on the grand scale. The more I have lived and grown, the more clear it has become that living to stay in everyone else's good graces is frustrating, futile, and potentially fatal. I've known that I needed to change for a long time. I just never knew how. And I know that the courage to do what one has to do should not depend on a number. But guess what? I needed a number. I read once that a deadline is what separates a dream from a goal. It has been my dream to be a strong and genuine version of myself for a very long time. It seems safe to say that 30 was my unnofficial deadline.
It's not that I haven't been myself up to now...I can't be anyone but myself. But I had a policy of, "I'm gonna be me-as long as it's ok with YOU" that was gradually eroding at my happiness and self-worth without even my knowledge of it. This is not to say that from now on I'm going to be putting myself or my desires first and foremost in everything. I know that emotionally and spiritually that kind of thinking would be equally detrimental. Real does not have to equal rude. It simply means being honest with myself about my motives and feelings. It means having the humility to listen to input and suggestions, but at the end of the day being able to weigh all factors and make a decision between myself and my Father without waiting for unanimous acceptance or veto by others. It's having the courage to back away from influences, situations, and-if necessary-people whose presence in my life doesn't make me better. Unless my faith or integrity are on the line there is no need to be a martyr and suffer unnecessarily. There is far too much inevitable pain that must be endured and coped with for me to add needless budens to my already aching back.
Some of you are reading this and shaking your heads in confusion, possibly saying to yourselves, "So?? I've BEEN living my life this way...I don't put up with crap, people just have to take me as I am, blah blah blah..." My response: Good for you. No disrespect intended, but that's you, not me. I don't apologize for being a late bloomer. I'm not apologizing for anything else about myself that isn't morally or spiritually wrong. Like all steps, everyone takes theirs when they are ready. And yes, being labeled with the number 30 has made it easier for me to tell the world that although I love and respect my fellow man I need to take care of myself in order to serve my God and have a measure of sanity. I needed the failures and the breakdowns to prove to myself that I couldn't keep going at the same pace. I needed these years to learn who I was and who I wanted to be before I could dig my heels into the ground and insist on having the breathing room to be that person. And I needed time to learn how to do it without alienating the people I love, because in doing that I wouldn't be remaining true to who I am,either.
I vacilate not; anyone who works out can tell you that strength and balance are indelibly linked. My new favorite saying that I myself coined, sacreligious though it may sound, is this: "Jesus was no sucker." The greatest man ever to have walked the earth was known for his surpassing love, approachableness and self-sacrifice, but he wasn't a fool that blindly let himself be taken advantage of because he was scared everyone would leave him. He wasn't participating in a popularity contest. He had the courage to do what was right, and what to do what needed to be done in order to accomplish the purpose for which he came whether anybody liked it or not. That's what I'm trying to become. Incidentally, he presented himself for his assignment when he was 30. Seems my timing is pretty good after all.
Some who have had dealings with me over the years will be taken aback to find that I don't say "yes" as quickly as I used to, or that I'm a bit more vocal about my opinions than I formerly let on. I expect people to wonder if I've been taking my meds, or if I'm experiencing extnded PMS. And I that's going to bother me. Perhaps I won't get as many phone calls or invitations, and I anticipate it being uncomfortable at first. But ultimately, I have to get past the initial strain. I'm having to make some choices that are not what I've been used to. But it's about time, and so far, it doesn't feel too terrible. Blame it on the number 30, I suppose...
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