30

Today I turn thirty. 

People keep asking how I feel about being the Big 3-0 and kissing my twenties goodbye. I'm at a loss. Most of my friends have been 30 for some time and I've honestly felt 30 for at least the last year or so. And I don't feel like there were xyz things I *needed* to accomplish by today, even smallish-ish feats like jumping out of a plane (which I did with H when he turned 30). Sure, there were things I've said I wanted to do, (and did) but there's nothing I feel the need to do to mark the occasion with fanfare.  

Don't get me wrong, my life is supremely different than how I'd imagined it would be when I was 10, 15 or even 20 years old. I had figured that by 30 I'd be married to a Nice Indian Boy with a couple of kids, living in suburbia, working at a job that "hasn't been invented yet" and serving as scout leader on Tuesday nights. If you had told me that instead I'd:

a) spend seven years living with mommy and daddy after college so I could take exotic vacations and save up to purchase a home 

b) discover my dream place of employment was actually a dungeon 

c) watch the industry I've slaved to be a part of implode so I no longer could afford the house I'd saved for 

d) find myself trying to unload a tiny piece of highrise real estate just in time for the housing market downslide

e) realize that a white guy from southern California understood me far better than any Indian Boy I'd ever met who wasn't gay

I'd never have believed you.

But I'm happy. Last night my mom and I got off work early and we hit the DMV (fastest service EVER!) then went for pedicures, got our eyebrows done and shopped. Today, H and I are going back to their house where I'm sure my parents will serve ice-cream cake, as they have every August 14 that I can remember. And I think my friends have planned something that I'm sure will be awesome this weekend. 

While it would be nice to have a couple kiddies crawling around, I'm pretty satisfied with my life the way it is right now, troubles and all. There are things I really should do, like set up a more solid system to save for retirement and find time for hobbies I love but haven't gotten to in years, like watercolor painting and pretending to breakdance. I'm also hoping to progress beyond the first-grade level of Hindi spelling/grammar at some point, and if we have to take the condo off the market I'll start making masala Indian food more than just once a week when I go back to my parents' house. (Hot sauce is a poor substitute, but it doesn't leave a lingering aroma that could turn off potential buyers.) Oh, and I've always wanted to see Iceland.

That's probably stuff I should put on a list to accomplish before I turn 40. Forty is the new 30, right? Maybe that's when this alleged sense of dread I'm supposed to be feeling will kick in. But if I'm to believe My Favorite Mami, I'll likely start feeling it tomorrow—like a nasty hangover.