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Over the hills
26/06/2008 13:00 - (SA)
Georgina Guedes
I turned 30 four months ago. I suppose I made the big "three-oh" particularly significant, because I started to work for myself, and I got married at around the same time. So far, in my limited experience of them, my thirties are turning out to be a very different bundle of years to my twenties.
Some people dread thirty. I never did. It seemed to hold all sorts of promise. In your thirties, you should have your life sorted out, and I unintentionally lined things up so that when my birthday rolled around, I was a fully-fledged adult with a husband and a business - a far cry from the walking-sandalled, backpacking hippie from the year before.
In my family, we age well - my mother is still in fine fettle approaching sixty, not looking a day over 39 - so I didn't ever feel that there was the beginning of a downhill slope approaching for me (certainly not at 30, anyway).
But all of a sudden, I've started to notice little things I've started thinking and doing, and the only conclusion I can draw about them is "oh my god, I'm getting old."
Saggy-bottom boys
The first thing - and this sign of ageing crept in when I was in my mid twenties - I abhor low-slung jeans. I'm not talking about hipsters, I'm talking about that dumbass skater fashion statement of wearing jeans hanging lower than the butt crack, with funky boxer shorts bulging out the top.
It just looks silly. Wearers have to walk funny to keep them up. I read somewhere that the fashion originated in prisons, where inmates aren't allowed to wear belts, so their pants hang. Whether this is true or not, I have no idea, but emulating "gangtsa" fashion seems a bit inane to me.
My husband, who is obviously younger at heart than I, points out that all fashion has its roots in inane sources, but I'm unwavering on these pants - the wearers just look like they're trying too hard.
Health food has also started to taste good. I was never a fast food grease addict, but I liked things rich and complex. The joy I now get out of a plate of chicken breast with parsley and flaked almonds, dressed with olive oil and lemon juice is a clear indicator that I'm in a new phase in my life.
It's not just that I feel like I'm being healthy so I feel good about myself. The mingling of the clean tart flavours genuinely seem delicious to me, whereas a fillet steak in cream sauce has started to feel a bit like overkill.
Anti-smoking in a big way
I have never been a smoker, but I was always a pretty tolerant non-smoker. I didn't like it when smoke blew directly into my face, but other than that, I was completely happy to sit in the smoking section to accommodate my friends, or even join them outside for a quick puff. And the hazy purple air in bars and nightclubs was just part of the charm.
Not any more! A group of us went dancing at The Red Room a few weeks ago, and I actually had to leave because my eyes were weeping so much. It wasn't that I decided that I didn't want to be there. I was physically unable to carry on dancing, the tears were streaming so fast down my cheeks.
And as for friends and family who smoke - I've become judgmental. Why would they want to do that to themselves, and why do they have to inflict in on me? There are friends I won't visit in winter anymore because they keep the doors closed and smoke inside.
I don't want to have to wash my hair an extra time a week because I popped in for a cup of tea and a chat. When did I become this person?
Alcohol tolerance way down
I still enjoy a bit of a tipple with my friends (and isn't that a granny statement?). A bit of booze is a great way to take the edge off a long day, to relax with friends or to lubricate social interaction. But the price I now pay for having three glasses of wine (yes, three!) is making alcohol less and less appealing.
If I have even a relatively small amount of alcohol, I wake up with my heart thumping at about three in the morning, and there's no getting back to sleep for me. And when it's time to get up, the headache and the nausea are no picnic either. I was so surprised by all of this that I even went for a liver function test, and everything is fine, I'm just in my thirties.
I worry more about crime, the economy, the environment, politics, money. Conversely, I worry less about my weight, even though there's more of it.
But in spite of my increased worries and expanding waistline, I'm happier than I've ever been. Life is great, and although it's less of a party than it once was, there are more pleasures to be found in the simpler things.
Maturity, or just plain boring?
Georgina Guedes is a freelance journalist. When she goes out in Melville, she really feels her age.
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