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I was curious to try turning thirty after hearing self-help gurus swear that it’s the secret to finally accepting yourself and being happy. Though they also said that about ayahuasca and moving to New York, and both of those just gave me diarrhea. But I went ahead and did the damn thing, so if you’re one of these twenty-nine-and-belows considering it, but have reservations, read on to find out if being thirty is right for you.
You’ll own more cleaning products.
At almost any hour of the day, you’ll be overwhelmed with the urge to Google if there’s a better way to deep-clean your rug, pan, or ceiling fan. You’ll scour Reddit threads then traverse the dark Web to find a D.I.Y. soap recipe that rehashes seventh-grade science. A guy swears by Elmer’s glue mixed with vinegar and chicken bouillon to get out wine stains, and you’re absolutely going to try it.
There’s more silence.
Once you cross the line from twenty-nine and eleven months to the age no TikTok influencer dares utter aloud, there will be a sudden drop in the number of loud people in your inner circle. The people you once associated with who operate at a higher average decibel, yelling freely about their rash at Bonefish Grill, will simply disappear from your life.
Emily Mariko will become a lot more interesting.
Food influencers used to exist in the periphery of your consciousness. Now you’ll have the contents of their fridges memorized and their recipes bookmarked. You’ll regularly marinate meat, sprinkle herbs, and text your friends air-fryer recipes. They’ll beg you to limit your quota to one per day, but you won’t listen. Eight minutes to make salmon?! This is the next industrial revolution. The world needs to know.__
Your plants will stay alive.
If pots of basil could unionize like the orcas, they would overthrow you immediately for all of their kin you killed. But things will be different now. You’ll be home way more. It’s pretty nice there! The temperature is exactly right. There’s no forced conversation, there’s free parking, and you finally have time to water that basil.
The sex will get better.
Whether it’s because your standards (and protein intake) are higher or because the peer-reviewed toy you got on Amazon now gets charged more than your phone, the mid-orgasms you were having in your mid-twenties are over. Also, the way you give orders now? You’d make a great lieutenant.
You will no longer care what Phil thinks.
Phil is that cool guy you once cared about impressing because he would stay out until 4 A.M. He was always pouring shots and telling edgy “jokes.” But over the years you’ve realized that Phil kind of sucks—he’s not very dependable and has way too many opinions on “The Little Mermaid.” So screw Phil.
You will turn down wedding invitations.
And you won’t even come up with a good reason. Your decision-making skills will no longer be impaired by a desperate thirst to be liked by all. “No” will slip out of you like a sneeze when someone suggests a standing-room-only concert. You’ll meet a new person and the first thing they’ll do is trauma dump. When you were younger, you admired their vulnerability. Now half a minute in, you’ll excuse yourself because you’re not Brené Brown.
You will look hotter.
No, for real. Now you know what looks good on you, and it is not a romper. It never was. You’ve figured out how to layer, and that a side part doesn’t work for your hexagonal face shape. You floss and eat more spinach. It’s actually embarrassing how much you like spinach!
You’ll be sleepy all the time.
It’s crazy that the minimum age for a President is thirty-five because no one should have to run a country when they’re so sleepy. Every time you encounter a problem, you’ll think, Let’s nap this out. And you will. In between work meetings; even during work meetings. Honestly, mostly during work meetings. Sometimes you’ll be sleepy and your digestive system will simultaneously be combusting. This is, like, when a Marvel movie has too many villains. But you’ll nap it out, at home, with your thriving basil. ♦
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