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I turn 30 next Tuesday. In the last few months, I’ve been telling myself that it is just another birthday, that there is nothing to worry about and no reason to freak out about hitting the “big 3-0.” While I still know this to be true, I’ve started freaking out a bit. Nothing major, really, just your normal freak out.

I’ve been reflecting on many of the decisions that I’ve made in my life that have brought me to where I sit today. What if we had decided to live in another city, or if a job took us to another city? I wonder what would have happened if I had decided on a different college. I could have attended Central College in Pella, Iowa or Marquette in Milwaukee, among others. What would my life be like had I chosen either of those places? Would I have met better friends? Would I have dated more interesting people? Would I be married? Where would I be living today? What kind of job would I have?

If I go back further, I wonder how relationships would have played out differently had I made what in retrospect are the right decisions, instead of the decisions I made at the time. Yes, I’m talking about people I dated and friends that I made and lost, all things that haven’t had much of a bearing on the last ten years of my life. I am not good at looking back with rose-colored glasses. I hurt people I shouldn’t have, avoided situations I should have confronted and muddled my way through the stuff that was just too hard to deal with at the time. Being able to admit that you weren’t exactly the best person doesn’t make regret and second-guessing go away, I guess.

How much more vaguely can I put all of this? Not much, I’m afraid. But you get the idea. All of my regret at choices made and not made is coming to a head after all of these years. I’m feeling my mortality and I don’t particularly like it. I’ve always thought that age is only a number, but my mind seems hell-bent on proving me wrong.

In addition to my mental waffling over things I can’t (or don’t want) to change, my body has taken a tumble for the worse in the last year. I can’t run, physically cannot run, anymore. So yeah, that sucks. I have osteoarthritis and two sizable tears in the meniscus in my right knee. Basically, it’s like my doctor told me after looking at the MRI, “You have the knee of a 70 year old who has lived a hard life.” Shitty. Add to this that in the past few weeks, I’ve been dealing with a sudden onset of a significant amount of neck, shoulder and arm pain on the right side of my body. While it’s the kind of thing that will pass, having it hit me right before I turn 30 hasn’t helped my disposition much. I do not like being reminded that I’m getting old. Knowing that it’s only going to get worse and not better isn’t a comforting thought. I will not grow old gracefully, I can assure you of that.

Let me be clear, I’m not bemoaning the way that my life did indeed play out. Sure, I attended a second-rate state university in Minnesota, only 90 miles from where I grew up. But I met fun and interesting friends and had a great four years. More importantly, I met my wife, who has been beside me in one form or another for over 11 years (four as my girlfriend and seven as my wife). We moved to Portland and bought a cute little house and have made good friends and a good life for ourselves. Sure, my career didn’t exactly take off, but the most important elements of a fulfilling life are there. I am happy and I am loved.

So what’s with all of the second-guessing and hand-wringing over decisions long passed? Shit, I don’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t be having any of it. I would be looking forward to a happy birthday and another year that I get to share with my friends and family.

In six days, my biological clock will tick off another year. Then, on January 1st, I will enter my fifth decade on this earth. Being born in 1979 has it’s perks, I guess.