Your thirties are a time when everything you did in your twenties now looks pathetic to an outsider: crushing on a shirtless Zac Efron, losing your iPhone, drinking West Coast Coolers.
No longer can you drink too much and spend the night hugging a toilet bowl without looking tragic. No longer can you go from job to job with no real plan and escape judgment. No longer can you go to a bar without clocking the room for someone – anyone – who may be older than you.
And if you’ve gotten this far without having children, everyone – and I mean everyone – is suddenly interested in what you and your womb’s intentions are.
By now, you’re supposed to have ‘it’ together: your finances, your alcohol intake, the relationship, the career trajectory.
You’re old enough not to be considered young anymore and you’re young enough not to be considered old. You’re basically life’s version of a middle child.
At the ripe old age of 34, I’m regarded as the resident ‘old’ person in the Mamamia office (when Mia’s not in). Which is as ridiculous as it sounds, because a) I’m not old (right? Hello?) and b) I’m one of the most irresponsible people you’ll ever meet. Being older (not wiser) the task of writing a guide to being in your 30s naturally defaulted to me. I’d like to apologise in advance, and please know that this is intended to be read with a huge helping of sarcasm. Being in your 30s is actually ace. See? No one else in their 30s still uses the word ‘ace.’