At the end of December I will be 31 years of age. I don’t know about other women my age, but when I was a young teenager, I heard often that a woman’s life ‘peaks’ at thirty. Thirty was an age to be feared, synonymous with words like ‘old’ and ‘haggard’. The condition of being youthfully beautiful was, I suppose, the foundation for such an assumption among my peers. They were of course speaking from a point of view entirely unable to draw such conclusions, yet all the same their fears of aging invoked a sort of mild, philosophical curiosity in me… I wondered why these girls thought 30 was so darn awful.
Thinking back, the crowd I hung around cannot really be blamed for such shallow thinking… mainly due to the fact that they were indeed shallow. Life, to them meant outward beauty, material objects and vast amount of personal popularity.
Though somewhat uninformed, said girls were partially correct… a woman’s beauty blossoms around 18 or so and she continues growing all the more lovely through her twenties. Around 26 or 27 most women begin noticing very fine wrinkles under the eye or by the mouth. Indeed, most of the pre-signs of aging are so small most people don’t notice them… except their owner. Happily, I listened to my mom and grandmother when they sternly warned to ‘wear sun block’ (not sunscreen) when we went outside for prolonged periods. My mother was fond of 45spf. Some studies show that a woman’s skin is pretty much damaged by the time she’s 21, citing loss of copper and elasticity in the dermis, etc.
Despite this paternal protection, I found fine lines upon me at 29; they snuck up rather gradually. One morning I looked in the mirror and a slightly older face than I remembered seeing looked back at me. Admittedly, at first it was surprising… and then I was amused at my own surprise. Then I smiled, and laughed.
I looked ‘sage’, I decided… and thought it was the coolest thing since laptop computers. I walked through the bedroom to make the morning coffee with the slow, regal walk of a duchess, for so I felt.
Since then I have discovered that being thirty has many, many perks:
For the first time in my life, I can shake my head in tolerant condescension at the foolishness of younger folk… and actually carry it off.
I can be reserved, grown-up and wise, yet harbor a spark of the impetuous youth within me.
I can use and regurgitate all the common sense platitudes which were regaled to me throughout my childhood… and so with a plausibly straight face.
I can buy a nice bottle of Merlot without being carded.
I get to remind the check-stand girl at the market (whom questions the validity of my coupons) that she is only a little older than my daughter.
When I wear eccentric clothing its considered ‘fashionable’.
And, these are but a few examples…
More importantly than all of the above, my outlook on life had changed; upbeat, I guess it the best word. This change reflects in my writing and poetry, which, in my youth, held a rather dire view of things in general. Now I see beauty in far more places; observing people’s faces and expressions is now an interesting and useful occupation and there are several people in my life which I consider far more important than myself. The fictional characters in the books my husband and I write automatically seem to learn from our collected experience, navigating troubles fairly well and avoiding the pitfalls of foolish mistakes… for the most part.
Regarding writing, this last year has brought four novels to fruition, whereas before I had not the inspiration, nor inclination to finish them. Editing now is far broader and more self-examining than prior edits done at more youthful periods, and I am inclined to think of my work in light of other, greater authors and find it pales a little with each comparison. The poems penned this year have taken on a comfortable flavor, which I like very much. It leads me to believe my own assumption about myself regarding being happier than in years previous.
My year of thirty has been good, productive and fulfilling... and yes I’m even proud of my fine lines. I suspect that this is merely the beginning of the best years of my life.
Meredith Greene
