I’ve got two hours left to say “I’m 29,” and mean it. As the big 3-0 approaches, that’s really my only deep thought.

I don’t feel like I’m getting old, mentally nor physically.  I certainly don’t look old–the casual passerby is often fooled by my petite frame.

Honestly, I haven’t thought that much about turning 30, other than the subconscious understanding that 30 puts me closer to what I’ve always thought of as my Work Age.

I sometimes hear that I’m “impressive for my age.” This is said with the utmost earnestness but often leaves me wondering to what age the compliment refers:  if I were 35 today, would I fail to impress? Am I a shiny object because I’m in my twenties? Will my polish fade when I’m firmly planted in the next decade? Read More…