Itinerary

A well known concept in science, and in medicine, is the half-life. It’s defined as the time interval required for a substance to decay by half of its initial value. Recently I can’t help but think how much this applies to getting older. Rather morbid when you consider that it’s an exponential decay.

Next week I am turning 32. So the next few years will roughly be the half-way point in my life, if I’m lucky enough to make it to the average age of 70-something for women. That might be wishful thinking, as I have almost been run over by the M34 bus twice this week already.

Last year, I tried to avoid my birthday by hiding in Barcelona. I had this fear that it would be different now in my 3os, like some biological half-life in which each additional year would make my body feel like it aged faster than the last year. 30 going on 35. Then 35 going on 45. That every passing year halved the chance that I would find Mr. Right. Or even Mr. Close-enough. Or that each year the likelihood of some major career success would diminish. Optimists would say anything is possible. But is it probable?

See why I ran away to the land of Gaudi and pan con tomate? It didn’t work, though.

But this year I’m changing my attitude. Starting with a big party to bring in 32. Embrace being a 30-something woman in the city. Confront that exponential decay head-on, armed with a dirty martini in one hand and some anti-wrinkle cream in the other.