It’s my birthday. I’m 30 today. It’s a pretty exciting time for me. I’ve developed classy, manly laugh lines and slight wrinkles, my hair has become a salt and pepper, less-than George Clooney more-than Jake Gyllenhaal hue, and I’ve discovered a deep reserve of wisdom and clarity which only comes with time and patience. My clothing now fits perfectly, I am able to grow a beard within a week, and I always know what time it is thanks to my mature, Tag-Hauer watch, which I intend to pass down to my first son, thus starting a rich tradition which will carry on through the ages for the first born males in my family.
And it’s not just the fluffy stuff, either. Politics are now important to me since I’ve turned 30. I worry about social security, and I’m ready to fight for our American values and way of life. I’ve started buying the good cognac, and I’m eying a new set of clubs. I sip drinks rather than chug, and I’m always keen to dole out helpful advice to my younger, unmarried, and less experienced friends. I’m looking forward to mentoring a young businessman, and perhaps connecting with a Little Brother that I can sponsor and spend time with.
As a 30-year-old man, I’ve come to appreciate the finer things, learned to spend time on the details, and always own my mistakes. I look forward to an ever-expanding, unyielding vista of experience over my next 30 years, which will undoubtedly lead me to another, more astounding set of revelations about life and love — revelations which I plan on sharing as loudly and often as possible.