My husband will celebrate his 28th birthday in a couple of weeks, and I'm not far behind him. We've come to realize that we've reached an official turning point in our lives. We're "pushing 30."
I've already experienced my "quarter-life crisis," intense panic about getting married and doing something useful with my life. Pushing 30 is an entirely different animal from the quarter-life crisis. Pushing 30 is when you begin to suffer from back pain and find wrinkles staring at you in the mirror. It's when the friends you used to go clubbing with start having babies. It's when you start to enjoy watching romantic comedies. It's when your parents start to make sense.
I've sold my midriff-baring party clothes and platform shoes on Ebay because 30-year-olds can't dress like 20-somethings and get away with it. And my husband's wardrobe of Hawaiian shirts is starting to look less trendy and more weird as he gets older.
The first time I noticed I was aging was when I began hearing songs I used to listen to in high school remade by young pop stars. And the real kiss of death is when I began hearing songs I listened to in high school on the classic rock station. Apparently Nirvana and R.E.M. are now considered golden oldies.
But I've said before that I don't really fear old age in fact I look forward to the wisdom and freedom I anticipate will come with age. But I'm not so sure about the aches and pains that come with age.
My husband has been sleeping on a special pillow because of his neck pain, which reminds me of my grandparents. While he was taking pain medication, I teased him about how he might have to get a "wheel of pills" that elderly people use to remind them which days they should take certain pills. The day we have to buy one of those contraptions is the day I know we've really gotten old.
Already we've started going to bed by 11 p.m. We watch the news now instead of "Friends" reruns, and we would rather rent a movie and have a glass of wine than go out to Buckhead like we did in the good ol' days.
We're still a few years away from having to wear dentures, so I guess getting old isn't all bad. It's actually more enjoyable than I thought it would be.
April Avison is the city editor of the Daily Herald. Her column appears on Mondays. She can be reached at (770) 957-9161 or via e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.