So Sallie Says

Today I turned 34 and here’s what I’m reflecting on about getting older.

I stopped keeping track of how old I am at 31 and have to use serious recall and retrieval to remember my age. I think this is partly because age just doesn’t come up as frequently as you get older and partly because I’m already mentally declining.

This means that when age does come up it’s a shock to the system. Why are online age range and birth date pickers so violent? I’m having to scroll too far to get to 1991 and I just think “30 and up” as an age group is a hate crime. My son asked me if I was a “lady” the other day and I had to gently inform him that I’m actually still just a girl! A teen mom, if you will.

It may sound like I’m in denial about aging, but I think there are more gains than pains (obviously not physically: my back hurts daily, I can only wear wide shoes because of a chronic toe cramp, and if I sleep on my neck weird I have to call out sick). Personally, I love being called “ma’am” by teenagers working retail: that’s right, show some respect to your elders … and then laugh at me after I leave the store. There’s even a solace, a milestone met, that comes with knowing and accepting that middle schoolers are probably making fun of you. And I love not having to participate in fashion fads anymore because let’s be honest, a Millennial trying to pull off a Gen Z trend looks even worse than the trend itself (also, we were there for the first time ballet flats were in and I don’t need to see it or smell it again). But what I love most of all about getting older is not caring.

So far my 30s have been a gradual cleaving of caring what other people think about me. I suspect it has mostly to do with having kids and my every waking thought going toward keeping them alive, but it may also be biological. At this point in the caves I would probably be on the brink of death, and that really puts things in perspective.

Accompanying this mentality is a heightened sense of self-confidence (and everyone who knows me well is rolling their eyes at the prospect of me having an even larger ego than I already do). But I, like most women, dealt with a rotating combination of body image, self esteem, and self worth issues for a solid two decades, so it’s about time I get a break. The nuance is that — for better or worse — my relatively newfound confidence isn’t necessarily wholly based off radical self acceptance, but also shifting priorities, increased stability, and more years of experience.

As we age, we accrue more and more context and baggage. This makes our expectations bigger, our relationships more complex, our problems thornier, and our worries deeper. But with all this comes more skills, more knowledge, and more intuition. Kids have forced me to level up in efficiency and do more with less time. I find it easier than ever to connect with people and to recognize real friendships. I am more assured in the decisions I make and able to focus on the things that actually matter. Simply put, having more years of experience is awesome.

Of course, right now it’s easy to act unfazed about turning 34 — I’m still technically in my early 30s. But check back in next year when I will be spiraling because 35 is synonymous with “middle age.” I guess I’ll take all my skills and knowledge I’ve gained and start planning what my midlife crisis will be!