It’s almost here.  I can hear it knocking at the door.  For a few more days, though, 30 will have to wait outside.  I feel compelled to throw up some sort of something upon turning 30.  I mean, if Hallmark thinks it’s a milestone birthday – it must be, right?!  Corporation or no corporation, I guess it’s mildly remarkable to have survived three decades.  No amount of sodium or high fructose corn syrup can keep me down!  I’m a robot.  Beep-beep.

To be honest, I’m embracing it.  I’m totally OK with the idea that I don’t need to sleep until noon to be rested.  I’ve accepted the decreasing percentage on the chance of me going out drinking on a Tuesday.  I’m not worried about getting my ID taken from me by a bouncer.  I don’t cry when I don’t pick up the latest album on the day it drops.  I’m OK with listening to house music without being next to the speaker.  These are all good things.  I think.

Not even close to 30: I have to endure Olan Mills photo shoots and a bowl cut.

Almost 30: I’ve learned that I love to travel and will hike to elevations of 5,000+ feet to get a great view.

But I don’t want to think that turning 30 means everything from my 20s is out.  I think I still have some of the same ideals and spirit of my younger self.  Maybe even more refined ideals and greater spirit exist today?  Perhaps.  My bucket list of life continues to grow.  For every one thing I get to cross off, I’ve already added 10 more.  That’s the great thing about getting older – you realize there is MORE.  Sure, more bullshit and bad haircuts, but also more awesome views just around the corner.