Scary age

In an episode of "Sex and the City," Charlotte refers to a turning point in her life. Apoint when she realizes things will never be the same again. A point when she understands that she's not young anymore and no longer has her whole life in front of her. Charlotte calls this point her "scary age." It's different for everyone and very personal. It can mean having accomplished (or not) a certain set of tasks, like educational or career goals. It can mean reaching a point of self discovery and knowledge. Or it can mean, as it does to Charlotte, having a certain structure to your personal life, such as a husband, 2.5 children, and a white picket fence.
I never particularly identified much with Charlotte. She's a bit of a prude and tends to be too ridgid and judgmental for me. However, on this point, we agree. I too have a scary age. I established it back in my late teens/ early 20s as a signpost for the progression of my life. My scary age was 30. On August 25, 2008, my 30th birthday, I sat down and took stock of myself and my life. Educational goals? Check- I have a two BAs and an MA. Career goals? Check- I have a job I like and am pretty good at. Self doscovery and knowledge? Check- I've been to a shrink and am working out the kinks daily, so I can usually tell if it's someone else or if it's just me. Personal life? Um...not so much.
There's the chink in my armour. My personal life is in a sad state. I'm not dating anyone seriously and haven't for the past two years. My last committed relationship was only a committment on my end and my longest relationship was back in college, almost a decade ago. I spent some pre and post birthday time furiously scrambling to "fix" my personal life. I went out. Met new people. I dated a bit. Still nothing. I took heart that the ladies of SATC did not despair. Except for Charlotte; she was always in despair about something! They were all comfortable where they were scary age or not. They kept hope of finding love, but took solace in their friendships with one another.
That's the ideal, made for tv version of how the story plays out. In reality, my scary age is scary for this reason: no matter how happy and well rounded I seem to be, at a certain age (30 in my life) people expect you to be attached to someone else and on the road to marriage and if you are not on that path they begin to apply pressure in hopes of getting you there. I thought my glamourous, nomadic lifestyle exempted me from this expectation until this point. I'd say, "No, I'm not seeing anoyone. It's hard for me because I travel so much and move so frequently. I never know how long I'm going to be in a place, so there's no point in getting too serious with anyone." People would listen and nod secretly wishing that they too could be the jet setter that I am.
My father would brag about me in church adding the requisite parental yeast to stories of my adventure travel. People would compliment him on rasing such a fine young woman. Then the questions would come. "When is she getting married?" "Does she have someone?" No and no were the answers my father was forced to mumble as he added something about how busy I always am. However, he took it as a personal failure and has recently set out to find me a mate. For several months now he's been telling me of a young man at church who travels for work just as much as I do. Yesterday I pointed out to my father that I don't actually travel much for work at all. I travel for pleasure and it just so happens that I don't work in America, but I digress. My father has attemepted to lure me to church with tales of this man's professional success and exotic travels to far flung places like Chicago, Detroit, and LA (no offense to those of you that hail from, or live in those places, but in reality they are not actually exotic to me). I have yet to meet him as our hectic travel schedules have not yet put us in DC at the same time. However, my father mentioned again yesterday that he's spoken of me to this man and that this man is eager to meet me. This most recent mention from Daddy stems from my very awkward Monday night "date," if you could even call it that.
My mother, who I thought was always on my side, has also joined the ranks of the marriage pressure-ers. It seems that she too thinks I'm a pathetic, old maid at 30 and unable to get on marraige road without some assistance. As a result, she arranged an introduction for me when I got off the plane Monday night. It was supposed to be dinner at the Cheesecake factory with she and I as well as her friend and her friend's nephew's former college roommate. Such a contrived situation mae me anxious and uncomfortable from the mere mention of it. To add more discomfort to the mix, my mom was also traveling that day, so she could not pick me up from the airport. My dad came and got me, then joined us for dinner. The poor guy; he never even saw it coming!
To get you up to speed on the background information, my parents dated for a couple of years before I was born. They lived together and contemplated marriage, but my mom backed out at the last minute. My dad moved out after I was born and I've never, in my recollection, lived with both of them. My father married about 11 years ago and is living his happily ever after. My mother also lives her happily ever after alone. Getting them in the same room at the same time sends me over the moon with joy until the fight breaks out. They seem cordial for the first half hour or so, then they start with the snide remarks and personal jabs that make everyone uncomfortable and me unhappy. Needless to say, dinner with the two of them requires a referee.
The poor guy had the worst seat in the house. He sat next to me and my dad and across from my mom, who also sat next to my dad. He listened and smiled polietly as my parents told embarassing stories about my affection for my childhood toys, called one another old (they're the same age), fat (they might also be the same height and weight), and stupid. I wanted to melt into my chair. He took it all in stride and was the pinnacle of grace under pressure. I appreciated him for that grace and was impressed that he could handle the dynamic duo (a.k.a. my parents). However, I don't think I'll ever see him again. That might go down in the history books as one of the worst first dates ever and if you've read this blog you know I've had some doozies! It was certainly worse for him than it was for me as they are my parents so I knew what to expect. Despite that, he was extremely polite and chivalrous- held the door, helped me with my coat, gave me his card and said that I should email. A couple of days later I did email, but have yet to hear from him. I can't help but think that in the back of his mind he sensed the pressure, the desperation of these crazy parents to marry off their wretched child, continue their blood line, and be rid of the stigma and shame of having a healthy, beautiful, smart, kind, witty, yet tragically single, 30 year old daughter.
So 30 remains my scary age, but not because of what it means to me. I love my life and am perfectly happy being who I am. I'm not scared of being 30, or 35, or even 40 anymore. What I am afraid of is other people and their reaction to me when I tell them a bit about myself and for some bizzare reason it is still not enough.