Night of passage By Molly DeCleene News-Chronicle I feel guilty for wasting this night. It is a gorgeous evening. Monday evening, to be exact. Monday, Oct. 6, 2003. It is nearly 6 o'clock and the fading light is mellow, casting leaves with a golden color that has everything to do with the setting sun and nothing to do with autumn. The air is warm, the sky is clear, and I have a feeling that after our predicted 70-degree weather this week, we will have few more such nights until spring. On any other evening, I would be lacing up my tennis shoes and hitting the sidewalk in an attempt to get some fresh air before the weather turns chilly. But instead, on this night, I am sitting in my apartment and moping. I feel as though tonight is the end of my life. Tomorrow I turn 30. Stupid, stupid 30. You may wonder how a birthday, an anniversary most people celebrate with feasting and fun, could cause a person so much heartache. I wish I knew. Ordinarily, I give very little thought to my birthday. If my family and friends remember it, great, if not, that's OK. This year, however, I am giving quite a lot of thought to the anniversary of my birth. My obsession has less to do with planning a party than it does with wishing people would forget it altogether. It's not that I feel old. Rather, I feel immature. In my early- to mid-20s, I had visions of myself at 30. None of those visions has come to fruition. I am not sure whether I am caught up in society's conventions or whether I truly desire these things for my own sake, but I thought I would be married by now, and possibly a mother. Really, these things are beyond my control. I certainly cannot drive to the supermarket and pick up a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread and a boyfriend. And I would rather wait until I am married before I have children. Newspapers and magazines have reported that many young people are waiting until they are in their mid- to late-20s to wed. And I think that's great. People need to dream and explore and experiment and travel. But I have done those things. I am not saying I have met all of my goals and lived all of my dreams. I assure you I have not. But I would like to share those dreams and goals with someone else. I have also pictured myself as owning a home by age 30, but finances have permitted me from attaining that goal. I realize it is foolish to get upset about things over which I have no control, but for some reason I just keep moping. My dad, in an attempt to cheer me, said, "Age is just a number. I tell myself, 'I can do everything I could before, just not as long.'" My dad turned 60 this year and has optimism to spare. If only I could catch and keep some of that optimism. I probably sound as though I am whining. I have a loving family, great friends, incredibly kind co-workers, a fulfilling job and a column to boot. I am healthy. I have a nice apartment. Heck, my life is awesome! God has handed me a surfboard and I am riding the wave of good fortune. Maybe 30 won't be so bad after all. Maybe I need a new perspective. This could be the year I vanquish my bad habits, have enough money for a down payment on a home, feel comfortable in my own skin. This could be MY YEAR. Heck, 30 isn't the end of anything - it's the beginning of everything. Happy, happy 30. DeCleene's column appears Wednesdays in the Woman Section. If you have comments or an idea for this space, contact her at [email protected].