A decade and a half back I believed that being 30 was “old”. I assumed i would have a roaring career, children, a tastefully done home with beautiful cutlery, mastery over filing taxes and still have a head full of thick black hair. I mentally ran marathons rehearsing winning speeches for various occasions where I would save the day, and was blindingly optimistic about the future.
That future is here today, and it’s not even remotely close to what I had anticipated.
My career is not roaring, it’s barely a meow. There is no crisp cotton saree, a starched spotless white coat, sweat less face in the summer during grand rounds or thankful patients in the vicinity. From being ready way before time during school days I’ve become this blob that thinks of a hundred interesting excuses to not turn up to work even before I’m out of the bed. I’m grumpy on the way to work, can’t say no while at work, and return home fuming like a charcoal iron box burning anyone who annoys me to the slightest.
Since my career isn't topping any Spotify charts, I started thinking of the feasibility of having a biological xerox copy. But then i realise there isn’t any time to actually take the xerox. All this while constantly stressing about the prophetic ticking biological clock which loves to surprise, is never on time and is an emotional wreck.
The only thing I don’t have to worry about for now is filing taxes. Because my income does not even qualify for it. So that’s a worry saved for when I’m 50 years old, because apparently older doctors earn more. Why not? I might be able to afford a fancy funeral and hire a helicopter to sprinkle my ashes over my favourite beaches.
It’s so hard to come to terms with this reality, in comparison to my extremely detailed and aesthetic imagination about my future in the past.
From calling others aunty, to actually being the aunty life is speeding by so fast constantly changing the algorithms I had in place. Like my 10th standard maths grades, my algorithms too are failing spectacularly at multiple levels.
But does this failed algorithm work? Surprisingly yes. It works very hard. It creates new pathways every single day to circumvent my daily anxiety and self doubt. It’s inclusive, exhaustive, learning and unlearning constantly. On some days it’s the unbelievable Gaylord and on the others it’s personification of all things pessimistic. It keeps looking forward to to better days, better pay and a better place. It realllly wants to slow down but does not know how.
The only thing slowing down for now is my metabolism. It has settled on a comfortable couch and has no intent of moving in the near future.
30s does not feel “old” anymore. It feels like the beginning of a new school term where everyone excitedly wraps books in brown covers waiting to get to a new class and yet nothing makes sense when alphabets are introduced in the maths problems. Anything is possible, also everything is possible. What a beautiful dichotomy.
And when the going gets really tough, I take strength from the happily multiplying grey hair colonies around my temples. Cut, colour , pluck them, they come right back. Whiter, stronger, and more in number than before. They teach me, maybe, just maybe I could possibly have it all. In the future.
