Very recently, I turned the big 3-0. Thirty years old. I remember when that seemed so old. My students all keep guessing that I'm somewhere in my mid-twenties, but I think that has less to do with the fact that I look young and more to do with the fact that mid-twenties seems terribly old already from their perspective (and the one student who did guess that I was over 30 is for sure getting an 'F' in my class).
I really didn't think much about entering my third decade of life—that is, I didn't think much of it until I was barrelling toward that target as a recently-divorced woman. For some strange reason, turning 30 didn't seem so bad when I was married. I was supposed to be entering that mature, sophisticated, and domestic stage of adult life with the devoted husband, white-picket fence, and 2.5 kids (read: I was supposed to grow up and stop acting like a drunken, careless, impulsive sophomore on spring break in Panama City). Now suddenly, single again with my "twenties" life behind me, I feel as though I have lost my excuse for engaging in any heedless gluttony of the quarter-life crisis.
Last week, I was reading status updates on Facebook—wedding anniversaries, kids' halloween costume ideas, meal planning, wedding ideas, house buying, pregnancy photographers, laundry tips—and I stop for a second to look at myself: I'm on four hours of sleep, recovering from martinis with the girls on a random Tuesday night, and eating ice cream out of the carton for dinner. When did this regression back to my college life happen? I used to think my life was very sophisticated and mature.
It seems like another life ago when I cooked dinner for a husband after work, wore a sweatshirt out on a Satuday date night to Five Guys for burgers, or cuddled next to someone in bed pondering together whether our kids would have my eyes or his. My daily life once looked like one that any regular adult would be living at the age of 30, but suddenly, my days don't resemble anything I had once envisioned for my near future.
Don't get me wrong—I'm not unhappy with my circumstances. In fact, I'm quite content. I love that I can dance around my living room without worrying about anyone walking in and teasing me. I love that I have a bedspread covered in pink flowers and a leopard-print pillow on my chair. I love that, when Mamasita called the other night to see if I wanted to come over for dinner, there was no one I needed to consult before I replied, "Sure!"
I know that my life is just as it should be right now—it just wasn't where I expected to be on my 30th birthday. Not even close. I seriously think that the loss of that future vision we hold is one of the worst parts about losing a spouse (however that loss may happen). You picture yourself sitting on the porch, drinking tea and talking about the "good ole days," with a certain someone and POOF!—that someone is no longer in the picture, and suddenly the whole picture vanishes. It is a very unsettling feeling not to know something that you wish to know, but most people deal with the fact that you never know exactly where you are going in life. It just becomes even harder when you unexpectedly don't know who you are going there with.
Thank goodness for the friends and family that I do know will be there every step of the way.
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Let's hope Chanel and Stella are right. Cheers to being thirty, flirty, and thriving—who knows what this new decade will bring....
Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée![]()
I really didn't think much about entering my third decade of life—that is, I didn't think much of it until I was barrelling toward that target as a recently-divorced woman. For some strange reason, turning 30 didn't seem so bad when I was married. I was supposed to be entering that mature, sophisticated, and domestic stage of adult life with the devoted husband, white-picket fence, and 2.5 kids (read: I was supposed to grow up and stop acting like a drunken, careless, impulsive sophomore on spring break in Panama City). Now suddenly, single again with my "twenties" life behind me, I feel as though I have lost my excuse for engaging in any heedless gluttony of the quarter-life crisis.
Last week, I was reading status updates on Facebook—wedding anniversaries, kids' halloween costume ideas, meal planning, wedding ideas, house buying, pregnancy photographers, laundry tips—and I stop for a second to look at myself: I'm on four hours of sleep, recovering from martinis with the girls on a random Tuesday night, and eating ice cream out of the carton for dinner. When did this regression back to my college life happen? I used to think my life was very sophisticated and mature.
It seems like another life ago when I cooked dinner for a husband after work, wore a sweatshirt out on a Satuday date night to Five Guys for burgers, or cuddled next to someone in bed pondering together whether our kids would have my eyes or his. My daily life once looked like one that any regular adult would be living at the age of 30, but suddenly, my days don't resemble anything I had once envisioned for my near future.
Don't get me wrong—I'm not unhappy with my circumstances. In fact, I'm quite content. I love that I can dance around my living room without worrying about anyone walking in and teasing me. I love that I have a bedspread covered in pink flowers and a leopard-print pillow on my chair. I love that, when Mamasita called the other night to see if I wanted to come over for dinner, there was no one I needed to consult before I replied, "Sure!"
I know that my life is just as it should be right now—it just wasn't where I expected to be on my 30th birthday. Not even close. I seriously think that the loss of that future vision we hold is one of the worst parts about losing a spouse (however that loss may happen). You picture yourself sitting on the porch, drinking tea and talking about the "good ole days," with a certain someone and POOF!—that someone is no longer in the picture, and suddenly the whole picture vanishes. It is a very unsettling feeling not to know something that you wish to know, but most people deal with the fact that you never know exactly where you are going in life. It just becomes even harder when you unexpectedly don't know who you are going there with.
Thank goodness for the friends and family that I do know will be there every step of the way.
Let's hope Chanel and Stella are right. Cheers to being thirty, flirty, and thriving—who knows what this new decade will bring....
Forever fearless,
Dumbfounded Divorcée
