The Thing With Thirty-Nine

When I was about to turn 30, I remember having this moment one day where I was thinking about it — I’m turning THIRTY! — and just freaked out, for what seemed like an hour.

It wasn’t any sort of surprise. I knew it was coming, ready or not. And yet, it was like I only realized just then that I was leaving my 20s. Forever.

I thought about the things that I had done, and the things I hadn’t. And I just felt … anxious.

And just as quickly as that panicked feeling washed over me … it subsided. And I was fine. Thirty came and went. No tears, no melancholy or feelings of regret. I stared it in the face, smiled, and carried on.

And now, here I am again.

Only this time, the number that’s zapping me with anxiety is 39.

My birthday is a little less than two weeks away, and I feel as if I’ve got this big, important paper, this test, to write, and I’ve procrastinated so much, that I’m running out of time to prepare.

I mean, it’s nuts.

I’m an adult who takes care of herself (mostly), pays her bills, and works professional in a stable job in a field that is becoming increasingly unstable. I have my health. I’ve the type of privilege that allows me to do things that I do sometimes take for granted. I have a living parent whom I love very much, and more friends than a woman could ask for.

I’ve even been trying to get myself used to the inevitable, saying, “I’m 39”, if something age-related comes up.

And yet.

A few days ago, I stumbled onto this New York Times article about single men in their 30s and 40s – bachelors, both gay and straight – who expressed their regret or yearning for companionship (marriage, even) and families.

(If you’re suddenly irked and didn’t even click on the link above, click here for some readers’ responses.)

Following that, I found myself listening to a CBC Radio documentary  about the generation of women – my generation – who are 39, or turning 39. I suggest that you listen to it for yourself and draw your own conclusions.

To me, the takeaway seemed to be that there’s this sizeable cohort of women who, like me, are single, childless and a little mystified that we were apparently sold this dream of Having It All (careers, marriages and children) and we find ourselves panicked that the bill of goods and the actual end product don’t match.

One of the women interviewed, a publicist, said the one thing that (on its face), I think I’m currently identifying with. From the day she turned 39 until the day she turned 40, she said felt this ball of panic that she couldn’t get rid of; it felt as if she “couldn’t shake this feeling of time … it just keeps marching on …”

Of course, she’s alluding this societal idea that by the time women are of a certain age, they’re supposed to have hit those marriage/motherhood milestones. But I think that’s where I differ.

Trying to imagine one’s life — getting married, having kids, and so on — is, I think, a very human response. And for a relatively large number of people, that’s really important to them.

Just not every single person.

Did I think I’d be married by now? Sure. Or at least in a long-term relationship. Do I occasionally get emotional about it? Sure. But you can’t always get what you want.

Kids? Well … that was never as clear. But as I get older, and more of my friends are having children, the prospect of being responsible for another human being seems daunting (and for that moment, I relish my single status).

Are there pros and cons to singledom and married life with kids? Sure! But there are pros and cons to everything in life! It just depends on what’s important to an individual.

What about men and women for whom marriage is not an imperative in their life? Or thirty- and forty-somethings who don’t have that so-called yearning to bear and raise children? I know some. They regret nothing.

What about people who — married, single or otherwise — like their lives just as they are? Who, as time marches on, are marching in lockstep, and cherishing the lives they’re leading?

Taking marriage and kids out of the equation for a moment: I thought that by now, I’d be more sure of myself, period. That I’d know what I want out of life, and make decisions minus all the fear, insecurity and second guessing.

What I’d like is to shake off this … obsessive worry, and not spend the next year paralyzed by panic over some perceived human milestone that I didn’t hit.

And, above all, when 40 arrives and the door opens, I don’t want to shuffle through, trembling and shielding my eyes from the bright, shining lights.

I want to stand up straight, hold my head high and — with a smirk and a dash of swagger in my step — pass through the entrance.

 

Loquacious High Five, Houda Nonoo!

Here’s something that caught my eye …

Last week, the king of Bahrain made a relatively progressive move.

The lady you see to the left – Houda Nonoo – was appointed to be the tiny Arab kingdom’s next ambassador to the United States.

No big deal, right? Except that this businesswoman is now:

(a) the first woman appointed to the job, and
(b) possibly the first Jewish ambassador in the entire Arab world.

Nonoo – when she’s not doing business, dividing her time between London and Bahrain – is also the first Jewish woman to head the Bahrain Human Rights Watch Society (not affiliated with Human Rights Watch).

Now, Bahrain  – a pro-Western nation sitting in the waters between Qatar and Saudi Arabia – is not without its issues. It presently doesn’t have diplomatic relations with Israel.

But in a nation of half a million people -where Jewish citizens presently number only 50 – this news ain’t too shabby. It’s definitely a start.

Big deal, for real. And it’s about time.

*smack*

You can read all about it right here for yourself.

 

 

Not Even In Winter

In another part of the city on Saturday night …

A friend of mine and her boyfriend were leaving a relaxing dinner at their friends’ house and were heading out to other parties – including the one I was at – when they witnessed a young woman being attacked by a guy.

She was apparently bawling and screaming, as this guy was yelling at her, jerking her around by her wrist, and chewing her out when she fell on the icy sidewalk.

My friends tailed the two of them and called 911. They discovered that horrible guy was that young woman’s boyfriend, and it sounded like they were having a domestic dispute. Understandably, my friend was freaked out.

I certainly hope that woman – wherever she is now – is okay. I can’t fathom what might’ve happened to her if my friend and her boyfriend weren’t around to see that.

It also makes me realize how much I take my personal security for granted. It’s funny (strange, not ha ha) … but for some reason, I have my guard up much more when the weather’s warmer. Not in winter. Don’t ask me why.

It’s quite a sobering thought. So for women like myself, who travel home by themselves often, a reminder to be careful. Pay attention to your surroundings. And stay alert. 

I certainly will be making more of an effort to.