Recently I’ve noticed my Facebook feed has often been peppered with statuses [stati?] along the lines of “has only two weeks left of her twenties, eeek!”, or “has turned thirty and it’s OK, it really is just the same on the other side.” Usually they’re accompanied by reassuring comments from people who have already completed their third decade, and are living proof that, oddly enough, one does not immediately require a zimmerframe and a blue rinse from here on.

So being 30 is OK. People are saying it’s OK. But still, a big deal is made about it, as with the end/beginning of any decade. It’s the round number thing. But it’s only a round number because we use base ten, we must remind ourselves. If we were counting in base twelve, we wouldn’t be thirty. We’d still be 26. And if we lived on Mars and counted in base 12 we’d be something entirely different. (I’m not going to take the time to work this one out, because I’m nearly 30 and I don’t have time to waste what’s left of my life doing it.) Humans seem oddly obsessed with these round numbers, although there are exceptions, such as whoever it was who wrote out π to 100 decimal places on the back of a toilet door in Manchester station.

It would be nice celebrate a πth birthday, although I suppose most people would be too young to understand what was happening. A π x 10th birthday might be better. I intend to calculate when I will be exactly 31.4159265 and have a party. I hope it’s in the summer, as my birthday’s in October and the weather is usually rubbish and by the time I’ve got up and feel ready to leave the house it always gets dark within about two hours. (Actually I’ve been considering changing my birthday to August or something. I think that, sadly, all I’d really need to do would be change it on Facebook and everyone would believe me.)

π aside, why are we so hung up on the number 30? I’ve read several articles about musicians who are in their twenties, being successful, and the journalist feels it necessary to state something along the lines of “[name of artist] is inevitably heading towards 30″ [really? you don't say..] ” – what are his/her plans before then?” It’s as if a) once someone is 30, that’s it: they have had it (in the pop music industry, maybe this is true…) or b) they must have achieved x, y and z before they are 30, or they are Not Going To Be Allowed To Continue.

But really, who cares? If they are doing good, interesting work, does anyone actually mind how old they are? If it’s someone making real art rather than being a piece of fluff with a microphone (again, I suppose I must refer to a certain portion of the pop music industry) – I don’t think their fans are suddenly going to shout, “Eeew! Old!” and stop buying their records just because of their age.

But nevertheless, the media, society and popular culture all scream that it’s time to panic: it’s the end of our “carefree” twenties, youth and beauty have peaked and we are supposed to be doing sensible things like buying houses and getting married and having babies and looking worn out and buying carpet cleaner. And if we are not doing these things, we are Behind. We are not properly mature, we have failed in what is expected of us as human beings who are fit to mix with polite society. Or, as I like to put it, A Complete Load of Bollocks.

I think being 30 is actually going to be brilliant.

I don’t know for certain as I haven’t had my suspicions confirmed by anyone who is over 30 (and perhaps I’m being naively optimistic – I am, after all, still in my twenties. Just.), but here is a generalised version of what I hope happens:

• So you’re 30 and you’re still a vegetarian / not planning to have children / a communist / a librarian / planning your entire life around Star Trek conventions / continuing to make art even though it doesn’t make Loads Of Money™ / not going to learn to drive? Maybe people who thought otherwise will now realise that actually it’s not “a phase”, you won’t “grow out of it” and you’re not necessarily going to “feel differently about it when you’re older”. Also: it is fun at this point to demonstrate an actual “phase”. When I turn thirty I am going eat only seaweed and dress as a zebra for exactly two months, and then stop.
• Family members still telling you what to do? Instead of “[insert name of relative], I am twenty-six!” you can now say, “I am thirty.” Use a calm, deep voice. They will be so shocked that they will never tell you what to do, ever again. (Well, hopefully.)
• Apparently, it’s nicer than being in your twenties. If you Google ‘good things about being 20′ versus ‘good things about being 30′ there is a striking difference in the search results. The 30 year olds are much more positive, although I’m not sure whether there are more forums in which 30 year olds are declaring how great it is because they were terribly worried just beforehand and want to prove to everybody and themselves that it’s OK. Or whether it’s possibly because the 20 year olds are all out having a marvellous time being 20 rather than wasting time crowing about it on the internet. But really, who does have a completely fantastic time in their twenties? Some people, maybe, but circumstances are against it. You’re expected to behave like an adult, but sometimes still treated like a child, plus there’s the pressure of these being the best years of your life, worsened by people muttering things like ‘Youth is wasted on the young’ in the background. Talk about confusing.
• Maybe you’re finally regarded as Having Existed Long Enough To Be Taken Seriously. When I was 9, a supply teacher read a book called “Dogger” to our class. All the way through it she pronounced the name of the eponymous toy dog in the story as “Dodger”. I put up my hand halfway through and said that I thought maybe it should be pronounced as it was spelt, and that I had the book at home, and was told off, presumably for impertinence or something. And I knew I was right, despite her insisting quite firmly, “No, it’s Dodger“. It was extremely annoying, but I couldn’t do anything about it because I was 9. I’d have respected her more both then and now if she’d taken my point rather than just automatically refused to allow a child to undermine her authority, but as things are I am still slightly resenting it twenty-one years later.

  This sort of thing shouldn’t really continue into our twenties, but I think it does to an extent. If you are in your twenties, you are described and labeled as “young”. It’s probably supposed to be some sort of compliment or at least a positive thing half the time, but I’ve met a lot of people I think have made assumptions about my competence and experience because of how old they thought I was. (Think women who work in offices who couldn’t understand how I could possibly typeset a letter correctly and unsupervised when I was a temp who hadn’t had Office Training. Who I then had to show how to operate Excel spreadsheets which they were supposed to know about as part of their Permanent Job.) I’m fed up of being “young”. I just want to be, you know, a person.

Not that I regret my twenties – I think I negotiated them reasonably well, had quite a nice time, and I still thoroughly enjoy hanging around with people who are still having theirs and have plenty left to go yet. But Me Being 30 sounds perfectly all right. I’m not panicking.

(Aaaargh! I have grey hairs and facial lines! And a knee that clicks when I kneel on it! Oh. Oh, actually I have had these since I was 24.)

Acknowledgements: Thank you to Debbie for [unknowingly] contributing to and inspiring parts of this post over a nice cup of hot chocolate; and to Tom for suggesting I can have a π x 10th birthday, even though I’ve missed my πth.