My last week as a twentysomething
These next seven days, including today, are my last as a twentysomething. A week from today I turn thirty.
A couple weeks ago I read in my copy of the Chicago Manual of Style that “whole numbers from one through one hundred, round numbers, and any number beginning a sentence” should be spelled. I have known to spell numbers beginning sentences since third grade (thanks, Misses Adams), but always thought the general rule was to spell numbers one through nine. In journalism, I believe, it is one through twelve. Weird, huh? Anyway, due to my lack of a personal, blogging style guide (I have always wanted to have an official style guide for The Quiet Man) I have adopted the Chicago Style method of spelling numbers. At least I am trying to. Old habits die hard. Regardless, I think turning “thirty” is much more palatable than turning “30.”
Thirty. It is one week away and it does not bother me. Honestly: it doesn’t. My twenty-fifth birthday (ordinals from one to one hundred should be spelled, too) wrecked me. Part of it was the specter of being a quarter-century old. (A quarter-century!) And what had I done with my life? I was still comparing myself with idols and people from high school who had done this or that; I was measuring my own life and accomplishments against those of others. I was especially obsessed with the age someone published their first book; and if I did not match it, it was a reflection of my talent and worth as a writer. Stupid. I have changed a lot since then, and so have my priorities regarding personal achievements. There is, no doubt, relativity to it and I have slowly begun to define what is relative to me. I am proud to say I am no longer comparing myself and what I have done, or left undone, to others and their accomplishments.
So I’ve got that going for me this week.
Seriously, though. My twenties will be behind me and I cannot say I will be crushed. For me, Monday is far from some kind of Mayan apocalypse on a personal level. Life will move on. The sun will rise and set. And, just as I grew and changed since the days before my twenty-fifth birthday, I expect to continue to grow and change.
Thirty. Bring it on!
A couple weeks ago I read in my copy of the Chicago Manual of Style that “whole numbers from one through one hundred, round numbers, and any number beginning a sentence” should be spelled. I have known to spell numbers beginning sentences since third grade (thanks, Misses Adams), but always thought the general rule was to spell numbers one through nine. In journalism, I believe, it is one through twelve. Weird, huh? Anyway, due to my lack of a personal, blogging style guide (I have always wanted to have an official style guide for The Quiet Man) I have adopted the Chicago Style method of spelling numbers. At least I am trying to. Old habits die hard. Regardless, I think turning “thirty” is much more palatable than turning “30.”
Thirty. It is one week away and it does not bother me. Honestly: it doesn’t. My twenty-fifth birthday (ordinals from one to one hundred should be spelled, too) wrecked me. Part of it was the specter of being a quarter-century old. (A quarter-century!) And what had I done with my life? I was still comparing myself with idols and people from high school who had done this or that; I was measuring my own life and accomplishments against those of others. I was especially obsessed with the age someone published their first book; and if I did not match it, it was a reflection of my talent and worth as a writer. Stupid. I have changed a lot since then, and so have my priorities regarding personal achievements. There is, no doubt, relativity to it and I have slowly begun to define what is relative to me. I am proud to say I am no longer comparing myself and what I have done, or left undone, to others and their accomplishments.
So I’ve got that going for me this week.
Seriously, though. My twenties will be behind me and I cannot say I will be crushed. For me, Monday is far from some kind of Mayan apocalypse on a personal level. Life will move on. The sun will rise and set. And, just as I grew and changed since the days before my twenty-fifth birthday, I expect to continue to grow and change.
Thirty. Bring it on!
