Next Sunday, I will turn thirty years old.
I have no idea what this means really, only that it feels sort of big and at least a little disconcerting. Sometimes I get nervous thinking about it and when I hear the countdown clock ticking, I feel like I’m about to make some commitment I’m not ready for–like I’m marrying into adulthood and I’ve got cold feet. Other times, like yesterday while jamming to Kanye in my car, I think Dude, whatever. Thirty is just a number, and when I wake up on Monday nothing will have really changed.
My disoriented feelings about turning 30 are hard to articulate, but when I came across this artwork by Rafael Verona I thought dude, that’s how I feel.
Just a twenty nine-year-old in the red snowy jungle of life, hanging off branches and…Oh God nevermind.
Anyway, this belief that ‘I don’t really feel thirty’ resurfaces…
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