I am 30 years old.

I always sort of thought turning 30 would be a big deal. A watershed moment. Or, if not that, a least a little scary.

It’s neither of those things. It just is.

I like to think that my-non freak out has to do with the special people. No wait, that came out wrong. It has to do with the people that are special to me.

Case in point:

On Saturday evening, Emily threw me the greatest, most laid back and awesome birthday bbq-o-rama I’ve ever had. It was tremendous. The people that came were sort of a cross-section of my friends: high school  buddies, college friends, post-college-emily-and-I friends. Even a family member or two. I realized at some point that the best part of being friends with these people is that I know I could go anywhere, do anything, disappear from the planet for a while – whatever. I know they’ll all always be willing to catch up over a beer and a bratwurst and we’ll laugh eachother’s heads off.

I guess what I’m saying is that 30 doesn’t scare me because 30 isn’t changing anything. With Vermont on the horizin, I’m going to move away from my friends. But I know that my friendships aren’t going anywhere.

I like that a lot.