Falling in love at 30

 All the 30+ peeps, make some noise!! (Thunderous applause)

All the single 30+ peeps, make some noise!! (Scattered 3-clap disappointed applause)
Did that set the context of the rant below?

I’m new to being 30; 4 months new. I didn’t think of it to be a big deal till I went to the doctor recently.

Me: Doctor, my symptoms are A, B, C, D. My habits are P, Q, R, S.
Doctor: That’s the reason.
Me: But I’ve been that for years. What’s causing changes so suddenly now?
Doctor: You’re 30.

I’m not going to lie. It hit me like a bag full of nuts and bolts smacked across my face.

Reason for doctor (Just giving you some context):

At 22, when you get your heart broken, you need Jack Daniels. At 30, when you get your heart broken, you need Dr. Daniels (Therapist). Well, that or Vipassana.

I’ve fallen in love several times before. I’m not new to this. At 20, 24, 26, 28, 30. I missed 22 because of a relationship. Would have tied up my AP quite neatly.

You know the old routine… the idea of someone giving you butterflies in your tummy, being reminded of them when you see their favourite biscuit, or hear one of the songs that they once shared with you, sighing deeply every now and then. N/A for people currently infected with Coronavirus. I’m not going to be biased. You could get deep breaths caused by that intense-teenage-love feelings even if you’re infected. But, I digress. Anyone can fall in love. It’s free. Like punching a wall. With your head. (That’s why the butterflies… see what I did there!!)

But it’s different every time. It’s a different part of the head. You’ve already developed some numbness. You might even be carrying some scars from the previous time (Some call it baggage. I romanticized the term ‘scar’ for my own convenience long ago). And the expectations are different too when you’re 30, you know! You’ve been there, done that. Classified every person you’ve ever met into some or the other category ‘type’ (Ohh… you’re one of those!!). And then there’s one you probably can’t quite classify. And all that your brain wants to do with that scientific curiosity is to know the other person a little more, in a desperate attempt to eventually classify them.

And there’s the kicker. The more you know them, you can’t classify them. (In all honesty, had one taken the time to know the others previously classified, one might not be able to classify them either.) It’s the same concept when you make friends: “This is my person”; for no rhyme or reason.

And before you know it, you’re in too deep. If you’ve had a history of making messed up choices, congratulations! Welcome to the world of unrequited one way love again, which makes a part of your head feel like half your age. That’s one way of being 16 years old at heart.

But there’s the advantage of being 30. You’ve had plenty of scars, so this one hurts just a little less. (No it doesn’t. I’m lying. You just get used to it. Or not. Like periods.) You tackle these situations better every time because you’re experienced. You grow a little more; wiser beyond your years. You open yourself up sooner, because you still have hope. It’s just going to take a little time. Maybe a day, maybe a week, maybe a month or maybe six. But you deal with it. Not because that’s what is expected out of you. But because you know you’re better for it.