Sitting at brunch with my friend Meagan one day, we started talking about the differences between our 20s and 30s.
At the start of our 20s, our priorities were (and these are more or less in order) doing well at work, dancing until 4 a.m., karaoke, drinking, and trying to make a dollar from fifteen cents. As the years progressed, relationships started, burned, then fizzled. Friends who moved to New York with us moved back to Florida, went to L.A., or found another corner of the country to call home. Other, shall we say, acquaintances we only saw at 2 a.m. eventually stopped calling us, and us them. Apartment and roommate merry go-rounds slowed and settled.
Then we turned 30. Finally making enough money to do more than seek out the cheapest bars (though for the record, we still love doing this), a good time became eating at new restaurants and ordering from the fancier cocktail menu. Better vacations were taken. Laughing until our faces hurt with a giant bottle of wine in someone¹s living room was the perfect Friday night.
Some people got married. Some got divorced. Some shouldn’t have gotten married but did anyway. Life just evolved.
And it’s not that things are better now than they were then. Not at all. Both lifestyles were, and are, perfection in their own way. Growing up is just an amazing thing.
Then the topic turned to having children, a stage of life among many of our friends that hasn’t reached us here in New York. We were both surprised to realize we were less scared than we had been in our 20s to have a child. Essentially we agreed that if it happened – by accident! – it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Okay that’s actually a lie. We were approximately six (strong) Bloody Marys in (I may or may not have been very casually licking Old Bay from the rim of the glass?), and the way it was framed was more like “If I found out I was pregnant, I’d keep it!” followed by very guilty-sounding giggling. I’m not saying it’s right! Just being honest, guys.