I can feel myself getting older. Actually feel it. It started in my back and has creeped it’s way all the way into my head. But the back pain is there. At least over the last couple of weeks.
I remember one day, not too long ago, talking to my mom about turning 30. “I don’t even remember my 30th,” she said, trying to brush me off with the hopes that I would begin to categorize it in the No-Big-Deal Category, rather than whatever category I’ve currently filed it under. [Fear? Disappointment? Failure?]
Of note: my mom had an almost 2 year old and a 3 month old when she turned 30. She doesn’t count.
When talking to my best friend about this, she, as she is wont to do, tried to steer me towards the good, not the bad and the ugly that seemed to be all I could see. “I can’t read any of those 20 things to do in your twenties posts anymore!,” I whined.
“But look at what you’ve done in your twenties,” my PIC cheered on one day from 120 miles away. In the midst of my panic attack I found myself breathe, if only for an instant.
And that is how I found myself in Tin Roof, close to midnight, the week of my 30th birthday. Well, not quite.
Last Wednesday, D and I headed to the Music Farm for the first time to see The Wood Brothers. I grabbed a Hootie Homegrown Ale from the bar and settled in for Chris Kasper, the opener. He was melodic and refreshing. I bought a cd.
The Wood Brothers took the stage next, after playing some vinyl for everyone in the house. And then I fell in love. I couldn’t even feel my feet hurting until after they vacated the stage.
When we finally did leave Music Farm, and my heart finally did stop fluttering, we stepped in Tin Roof to hear Oteil Burbridge.
This is when the age really hit. People were dancing – or in their minds, floating. Or they were floating and thought they were dancing. I’m not really sure. Either way I was standing there feeling the morning drawing nearer, my feet pounding harder, and how suddenly, just like that, I’m not 16 anymore.
And it’s awful.