Turning 31 Years Old: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience

When I turned 30 last year, I admit I was a bit surprised that I really didn't fret about it in any way shape or form. I mean, I didn't freak out, I didn't search my face for wrinkles or gray hairs, I didn't even put on an exaggerated sad face that my 20s were over with.

You see, when I turned 30 last year, I felt exactly like I did when I was in my 20s. No different. No changes. In a way, I was 30 in number only. My heart, my spirit, my physicality remained in their 20s.

Last year, I simply couldn't figure out why turning 30 wasn't a big deal.

Turns out, I had to turn 31 to figure it out. :-)

For those of you who don't know, this Friday, Aug. 6, is my birthday. I will be the ripe old age of 31 years old.

And it made me realize something:

You know why 30 was no big deal? Because I was still close enough to my 20s. I was close enough to be in my 20s; to remember what they were like, what I did, how I felt as a younger man. Sure, if I looked ahead, all I saw was 30s. But if I looked behind -- a few days, a few weeks, a few months -- the sunshine of my 20s was still very much in my sights.

In a way, it was like moving out of your parents' house and into their garage. Freedom...without the real responsibility.

But then something happened:

I'm turning 31.

And the sunshine that was behind me is a lot harder to see.

Now, I am officially in my 30s. I'm not just 30. I've added an "s". I look ahead: 30s. I look behind me: 30s. And if I look far enough back, I can still see the Nev of the 20s. But his face is covered in shadows, and the expression on that face is one of sadness, knowing I'm never to return.

My youth...is dying. :-(

Now several good things have happened since I've entered the 30s realm. I've gotten married to an amazing woman. I bought my first house. I'm watering plants and they're not dying. My 30s have been kind to me thus far, and I have no reason to suspect they will not continue to do so otherwise.

But it's hard to say an official goodbye to 20s Nev. We were together so long, had so many laughs, that it's difficult to just turn your back on that relationship and move on. There's history there.

So I'd like to say a few parting words to my 20s self:

Live on. Live on in spirit. Live on in memory. Live, 20s Nev. Live for me, your 31-year-old blood brother who has no choice to grow up. Be carefree, have fun, get into fights with random strangers at Subway restaurants (it happened not once, but twice). Chase the ladies (during the period in your 20s when you weren't dating your future wife), blow money in Vegas, get in trouble!!

Because I'm 31 now.

And my 20s are covered in shadows.

...

On the other hand...

31-year-old Nev owns a house.

And a backyard so he can now get a dog.

I like dogs.

"Floppos" is on the short list for names.

20s Nev couldn't think about getting a dog.

He lived in an apartment.

You know what?

I guess 31's OK.

:-)

And now for this week's:

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

Meet Antoine Dodson.

Just trust me.

:-)