I Don’t Feel Like I’m in My Thirties At All

And I don’t think that’s a good thing.

Photo by Zohre Nemati on Unsplash

I’m thirty-one years old, and from time to time people ask me if I’m still in high school.

I don’t know which is worse when I confirm the negative: their embarrassment or mine.

This kind of thing didn’t bother me when I was in my twenties. I felt flattered when someone assumed I was younger. It was the kind of thing I thought I was supposed to be proud of.

Nowadays, I’m not so sure.

What bothers me more, I think, is that the factors that should affirm my adulthood remain out of reach — if I ever attain them at all.

I live with relatives where we have a pretty good give-and-take relationship where we help each other. Ever since I started making a bit more money (meaning above minimum wage), I pay rent, and the undercurrent of understanding is that I’ll be the one to assist as they get older, especially since they have no children.

My struggles with mental illness have made me less ambitious when it comes to renting or owning a place. I also worry that things like my aversion to solitude and inclination towards agoraphobic-like tendencies would make me even less a suitable candidate for a life on my own.