I Am a Woman in My Thirties, and I Am Thriving
Key takeaways
- Photograph from Getty Save this story Save this story Save this story Save this story I am a woman in my thirties, and I am thriving.
- I wear glasses, because I like how they look and not because I’m bad at putting in contacts.
- When a man on the subway behaves erratically, I join my fellow-passengers in the quiet roleplay of pretending that everything is O.K.
Photograph from Getty Save this story Save this story Save this story Save this story I am a woman in my thirties, and I am thriving. I have a career, a wittily named pet, a book club, a Dyson vacuum, and a red-light therapy mask (the good kind). I have frozen my eggs, which is a sentence that makes me sound empowered and non-perishable. I am strong and curious, but also super chill.
I meditate. I do yoga and ceramics. I wear glasses, because I like how they look and not because I’m bad at putting in contacts. I have recently started to relearn the flute, a hobby I dropped—despite promising childhood talent—nineteen years ago. Every morning, I earthquake my body with flapping arms and bouncy lymphatic jumps. For wellness purposes, I slap my torso, and look like I’m possessed.
When a man on the subway behaves erratically, I join my fellow-passengers in the quiet roleplay of pretending that everything is O.K. I am barely shaken. I live in peace—I hold the pole with two fingers, like a glass of champagne, and look the other way. The train keeps going. Nothing can burst the bubble in which I am listening to Amy Poehler’s podcast.