on the occasion of the 31st anniversary of my birth...

Age is funny.

Physically, I'm doing quite well ("Thanks, Mom & Dad, for the great genes!"); I would blend seamlessy with a group of college kids. In fact, put me in a t-shirt and jeans next to a 22-year old in a suit and I may very well look younger. But the fact remains I am now--officially--fully entrenched in my 30s. I am a thirty-something.

Have you noticed, though, how so much weight is placed on appearance when the subject of getting older is broached, especially during this too often stress-inducing transition from one's twenties to thirties? Whenever expressing my own concerns I always seem to get a guffaw or eye roll followed by a "What do you have to worry about?" Obviously, since I look freakishly young, I never think about fine lines or peak performance or how I'm going to be 40 in nine years; or if I should be more settled at this age or have a stock portfolio and fatter paycheck; or wonder--sometimes out loud--"Shouldn't I have myself figured out by now?"

In a purely superficial way I am grateful that I still fit in with twenty-somethings. And I'll be the first to admit that my personality is as youthful as my appearance. But don't let your eyes decieve you... I worry about wearing Depends just as much as you do.

With that said, HAPPY FIZZ DAY!!