The Alpha Blonde

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This article was written on 24 Feb 2013, and is filled under Uncategorized.

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Thirty.

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I’ve been flipping out for months.  Actually as soon as I turned 29 I started freaking out.  My youth slipping away, yada yada. I started a zine to work through it but I didn’t finish it because putting it together meant that thirty was going to be a real thing.

When I would daydream, it would never take me beyond 28.  For some reason that was the age that I somehow assumed I’d finally get all of my duckies in a row by.  A magic number.

Luck would have it that my 28th year was the year my life fell apart.  My marriage ended just months before my birthday, I was depressed, ensnared in a toxic friendship and I didn’t know where I was headed. I stopped smiling genuinely and started smiling the same way a kid starts laughing at the end of a tantrum- I knew there was a reason to stop throwing my fit but couldn’t grasp it yet.  It was frantic, I never knew a smile could be as much a cry for help as damaging behaviors.  My vision of 28 as the year I’d finally grow up was definitely not prophetic.

I had no clue who I was.

29 hit and I realized my twenties were coming to an end.  I started getting acne, which was just cruel.  And hairs, long ones coming out of my chin.  I retaliated with brighter makeup, shopping in the kids plus-size department and making out with 23 year olds at weddings. It was a sloppy, slippery slope.

When I started dating Chuck I didn’t realize how comfortable he’d eventually make me feel in my own skin.  Maybe having an older man was the key- Now matter how I age, I’ll always be younger. Nah, if so that could have worked on anyone. I was able to stop running around like crazy and sit and evaluate what I had.  I realized what I had was good.  No, great.  So my body isn’t the way it was in my mid-twenties and my old clothes don’t fit, but it bore two children who are without a doubt the cleverest and most delightful people on earth.  (Sidenote: Chuck thinks that by default if we have a kid, they’ll have to be dumb and ugly to maintain balance in the family) I can’t stay out late and do karaoke all night anymore without it wrecking me for a week, but my family is supportive.  I can’t drink like I used to, but my job is fulfilling and I love the people I work with.

Things are good.

So I’m not panicked about age anymore.  Last night before bed I sleepily whispered to Chuck “Only 50 more years until I can claim octogenarian!” Bring it on.

Letting go of my twenties is going to be easy now that my perspective has shifted.  The end of my twenties was a rough and bumpy ride and I’ll gladly leave the heartache behind. All of the soul searching and feeling a need to define “ME” and the frenzied need to be someone before I was settled into being a no-one. The fear that my best days were behind me.

A week ago I sat in a Drybar in Pasadena getting my hair styled for kicks while drinking a mimosa.  I am pretty sure the best days are ahead.  Thirty is going to bring doing things just because, being comfortable with being home, understanding that I may never fully comprehend myself so I might as well stop the frenetic scrambling and enjoy the aha moments as they come in.  Thirty is enjoying my children on weekends instead of going out, and staying in on weeknights so I’ll be refreshed for the next morning.  Thirty is maintenance, I put in all of the work and now I can enjoy the fruits of the insecurities and instability of my twenties.  It’s reinforcing my structures so that as I approach forty I don’t cave in an go batshit crazy over the idea of my age flipping over to another decade.  It’s allowing myself to live as myself.  It’s having a birthday cake made by a bakery instead of in my kitchen because I can.

Or so it seems as I type this, full of Italian food, fancy vegan cake and self-importantness.  I am going to rock the shit out of this decade.  Smell ya later, twenties.  I’m off to do some yoga and move closer to smug self actualization.

2 Comments

  1. Mallory
    March 20, 2013

    Kim, one of my favorite memories related to you is your “Fifty Isn’t Old When You’re a Tree” t-shirt, that you used to wear in high school. This blog post made me think of it.

    Anyway, as one who is rapidly approaching thirty, something you said here resonated tremendously: “All of the soul searching and feeling a need to define “ME” and the frenzied need to be someone before I was settled into being a no-one. The fear that my best days were behind me.”

    I’ve felt that so strongly. I worry that because my life isn’t what twenty-year-old me thought it would be by now, that I’m a lost cause. I worry that if I didn’t have a completely firm (perhaps static) sense of who I am by now, that I never will. But where is the fun in being static? Where is the joy in limiting yourself, and not appreciating the way our lives unfold in front of us in the most unexpected of ways?

    Because Thirty Isn’t Old When You’re a Human.

    Thanks, Kim. :)

    • kimburly
      March 21, 2013

      You know what makes this whole thing easier? Taylor Hanson is 30, too.

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