Skip to main content

The Wrong Side of 30, Is That Right?








We’ve all heard the expression ‘the wrong side of thirty” right? Actually, it could be the wrong side of anything – thirty, forty or fifty; but the idea is to denote that the so-called right side is passé. And more often than not, this phrase is used in relation to mentioning someone’s age.

I know I have been hearing this phase for some time now; and I always thought that anyone on the wrong side of thirty was someone over thirty years old. Then when I turned thirty and I had a lot going on in my life, I told myself that, cliché or not; for me, 30 was the new 20! And I decided that someone on the wrong side of thirty had to be someone who was more than thirty-five years old. And I had a long way to go!

But now it is here. It is finally here. That phrase “on the wrong side of thirty” is here to haunt me, forever! And so here I am, on the eve of my birthday, wallowing in self-pity that I am finally going to be that woman who is on the wrong side of thirty (no matter what way I decide to take the meaning of the phrase to be.)

But hey, who am I kidding! Self-pity is not my style! And wallowing is definitely not! So I have decided to take a look at the phrase itself in new light. Why is it, that people think anyone above thirty (ahem, or thirty-five) is in the wrong side really?

I mean, come on, I know by the time we reach thirty-five, we are not looking forward to cutting a cake and making a wish (really?) because we have lived long enough to stop believing in the whole make a wish thing. (Well not me, but, I know plenty of my friends who say that.) By thirty-five – let’s call them mid-thirties (sounds better), we are sort of disillusioned sometimes; or have gotten used to the routine that our life has become. But either way, we do not give much importance to the fact that we are in our thirties.

In fact, if possible, we try not to think about the fact that the thirties are passing us by and we are, day by day, becoming lesser and lesser of what we thought ourselves to be. We try not to take a closer look at where we started out from and where are headed – scared to find how far off-course we may have come.       

But the more I think of it, I find this whole thing lame! I mean, look at it this way: By the time we are in your mid-thirties, we are beginning to make some sense of what we are doing in life, right? Till then, we are clutching at straws, not knowing where our life is going, in what direction we want to take it. In our twenties, we have ideals, goals and dreams; but we have no idea what we are doing with them.

By our mid-thirties though, we know where we are headed. The dreams are still there, but we are building foundations to make them come true. The ideals are still there, but we have by now learnt to come to terms with realities of life as well. We still have goals, but they are more real now and achievable.

The wrong side of thirty, then; is actually the (b) right side of forty, isn’t it?  

Truth be told, twenties, forties and even fifties have their own charm. Because when we are in your teens, we look forward to our twenties. By the time we reach your forties, we have achieved something. We have become a semblance of what we intended to be; or are getting there. But we forget that to get there, we have to go through our thirties!

Twenties are for dreaming and forties are to bask in the glory of what you have become, but thirties? Thirties are when you are actually working towards achieving your dreams. That’s where the real action is! And it makes sense to enjoy the action while it lasts.



So really, there is no right or wrong side for the thirties if you ask me. Thirties are the new twenty, clichéd but true; and I firmly stand by it!

What do you think? Is there anything such as the wrong side of thirty?

Comments


  1. Congratulations! Your blog post was selected for Spicy Saturday Picks edition edition on February 13, 2016 at BlogAdda.

    Please find it here:
    http://blog.blogadda.com/2016/02/13/spicy-saturday-picks-february-13-2016-indian-boggers-blogadda

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you @Team BlogAdda. Happy to be featured!

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

आईचा ब्रेक

मिस्टर सानेंनी हळू डोळे उघडले. खिडकीतून उन्हं येत होती. खाडकन जागे झाले. दुपार झाली कि काय! घड्याळ बघितल, हुश्श, आठच वाजतायेत! पण पुढच्याच क्षणी लक्षात आलं, आठ वाजले तरी किचन मधून काही आवाज येत नाहीयेत. आज तर गुरुवार, वर्किंग डे, एव्हाना किचन मधून आवाजच नव्हे तर तर-तर्हेचे वासही यायला हवेत. डबा तयार झाला असला पाहिजे, चहा तयार झाला आला पाहिजे. पण आज कसलीच हालचाल दिसत नाही! शेजारी पहिल तर मिसेस सानेही शेजारी नाहीत. काय भानगड आहे बुआ आज?   चष्मा चढवून मिस्टर साने बेडरूम मधून बाहेर आले. मिसेस सानेंचा घरात कुठेच पत्ता नव्हता! गेली कुठे  ही? मिस्टर सानेंनी सुनबाईंना विचारायच ठरवलं. पण श्वेता त्यांना कुठे दिसेना. इतक्यात, "गुडमॉर्निंग  बाबा!" म्हणत श्वेता जांभई देत बाहेर आली आणि त्यांच्या उत्तराची वाट न पाहता, तडक  "गुडमॉर्निंग आई" म्हणत किचन मध्ये गेली. मिस्टर साने तिला काही सांगणार इतक्यात,  "अहो बाबा, आई कुठेयत?" म्हणत पुन्हा बाहेर आली. एव्हाना तिची झोप पूर्णपणे उडाली होती. "माहित नाही बुआ, मला वाटलं तुला काही बोलली असेल..."   त्यांन...

Love them or hate them....

"Behind every great kid is a mom who is pretty sure she is getting it all wrong", they say. True, parenting is a game of 'wait and watch.' There is no right or wrong here; or nothing that is a sure fire success mantra. Everyone has a different take on on how they wish to raise their young ones. And it is the choices that parents make that impact their children majorly. 

The Dream

“Hello,” said the voice on the phone. “My name is Roald Dahl. I know you never expected a call from me, as famous as I am, but I’ve been given your name as someone who can help me with my next book…” That was how it all started. With that one dream. Of course, I knew it even before I had opened my eyes, that it was a dream. I mean, who in their right mind would say I know you never expected a call from me, as famous as I am… ?! Not to mention the fact that Dahl has been dead for the past twenty-eight years. But that didn’t matter. Not at that time. Because that dream gave me clarity. That dream propelled me into action after ages of inactivity. Well, I say ages, but it was merely months, really. Months spent going in and out of courtrooms. Months spent climbing up and down that horrid staircase of the family court building. Horrible, awful months. Excruciating months, when I preferred oblivion, and possibly even contemplated death. Months when I didn’t want to exis...