30

Not yet.

But I'm on the slow march, at the point where I can no longer say I'm in my mid-twenties. I don't mind. I've been yanking out grey hairs for about a month now -- the bona fide, thick, wiry kind. I'm not being dramatic. My mom went grey early. Probably I've been grey for a while, but I've been coloring my hair for so long I haven't noticed.

I've long accepted the fact that I'm now an older, fatter version of my younger, thinner self. I watch younger people chow multiple cupcakes and remember that I used to be able to do that, until one day, I just couldn't anymore, without gaining weight. I don't mind the extra poundage, though. I was always a bit scrawny, anyway.

I'm looking forward to 30. I think much of my twenties was spent feeling sorry for myself, and just lately I've realized what folly and nonsense all of that is. I'm in the early stages of planning a big trip to celebrate -- by big trip, I mean several months. I'm not sure where I'm going to go. I'd like to go to Iran, but I don't think that's going to happen right now. I'd like to go to Malta, Turkey, Greece. I'd like to go to Kyrgyzstan. I'd like to go visit my new nephew in England. I'd like to spend a month in Nova Scotia, just looking out at the sea.

We'll see.