Black Mirrors: No Reflection, No Pride, No Vanity

My friend, Jim turned Thirty.  Yessir, the good ol’ dreaded Thirty!  Chuckle if you will...but you gotta feel sorry for the poor sap.  Thirty isn’t as graceful as it used to be.

As I type this, Jim’s in a bit of a denial.  At quick glance, one would assume Jim to be embracing his age quite admirably.  Jim’s happy.  He’s smiling.  There’s actually this weird new bounce in his step.  When asked of his age, Jim goes as far as to implicitly state “I ain't scared of my life.  There’s nothing big about turning Thirty.  It’s just like being twenty-nine or twenty-eight...or even twenty-seven!” 

Alas, if this were only true.  I know my friend quite well – well enough to know that he’s exactly like the rest of us.  Jim’s built this intricate set of black mirrors around his insecurities, each mirror dazzling his audience with this ridiculously vain and proud reflection.  In Jim's black mirror, he plays the lead role...and if anything, Jim's playing it strong and comfortably content.

And while I’m sure you’ll catch Strong and Comfortable Jim when he’s shopping for groceries or as he’s bouncing off to work, I can literally guarantee you won’t see Strong and Comfortable Jim after he’s downed three Vodka Tonics at the bar.  Somehow, when Jim feels truly strong and comfortable enough to express his genuine feelings, all the black mirrors fade away, taking a proverbial back seat to the Real Jim.

And what’s Real Jim like, you ask?  Real Jim is a simple and beautiful mess, one that’s dominated by the likes of confusion, reluctance, and disheartenment.  Real Jim isn’t ready to landmark the first marker point of his adult life.  He sure isn’t prepared to contrast the last twenty years of his youthful idealism with the upcoming twenty years of his adult pragmatism.  Real Jim isn’t twenty-nine or twenty-eight.  Real Jim isn’t even twenty-seven.  Real Jim is Thirty.

I’ve never been Thirty and nor do I want to be.  I’ve seen what turning Thirty has done to my friends...and I want no part of it.  Trust me, I’ve enough neuroses manhandling my life as it is.  I don’t need the perils of Thirty rampaging their way through my daily routine.  Just count me out. In fact, when my turn comes, just throw thirty-one candles on my cake and we’ll act as if Thirty never existed.  I’ll pretend like it never happened.

Because pretending is so obviously the best way to address the issue at hand.