Finding Joy in Growing Up

Good morning from Norway.

I’m 33 now, which is an age I never thought I’d be. Maybe 28 or 30. Those both feel like very real, grounded ages that are not too out of reach or incomprehensible to a young person’s imagination. 39 and 41? Those are absurd numbers. “Surely, I’ll never be that,” a younger me thought. As a kid, I’d often envision my late 20s to take place in a large, New York apartment where I’d read the Times in the morning and get obliterated at an overpriced bar in the evening. At 39, I imagined myself with children, a suburban mortgage, and a lawnmower I sigh at every time I rev its obnoxious engine. None of that feels relevant to contemporary me, yet here I type, a mythical man living one of those pretend numbers. It is quite real, and I am actually approaching my mid-30s, which makes me feel inarguably grown, mature, and somewhat serious. Since I’m here, I may as well look around to see what other people in the world have done at this point in their lives.

By 33, Virginia Woolf published The Voyage Out. Francis Ford Coppola released The Godfather at 33. Beyoncé was touring her critically acclaimed album Beyoncé at 33. Jesus Christ was crucified at 33 (let’s hope that remains respectfully irrelevant to me). Meanwhile, this particular day of 33 for me looks less like cultural canon. I’m writing to you from the snowy fjords in the north, surrounded by reindeer and gjetost, wearing wool socks because my toes are cold. Joy.

I’ve never been one to enjoy the attention that comes with a birthday. The calls and texts are very thoughtful — much preferred to gifts. It’s sweet to see your own personal network show up for you on a seemingly random day of the year. That’s love, I suppose. However, the pressure to do something celebratory always weighs heavily, and the sadness that can come with doing nothing also reads palpable. Thus, my solution was born. Among recent years, I have accidentally created a tradition of celebration I do quite enjoy.

You see, over the past several birthdays, I’ve been traveling to a new country to bring in my new year with a new culture and new experience. New new new. How poetic. Spain for my 30th. Denmark for my 32nd. Norway for my 33rd. And, confidently a few others in the past. Parties make me feel like the unnerved main character in an evening’s relatedly meh movie. Travel allows me to be a director, comfortably out-of-view but quietly orchestrating the allotted time, which I personally find comfort in. There’s something so satisfying, even if nothing happens on the trip’s actual day, to know I’ve already begun my new age with something novel. Everything about being in Norway this year is singular. The language, the customs, the food, the scenery — all moving in their own unique way.

Today, we sweat in the sauna and plunged 12 feet off of a dock (fully naked) into the Norwegian sea. My breath escaped me as my lungs tightened in complete contrast to the peace in the windless air. Honestly, it was f*cking freezing — as one could assume the Arctic would be — yet totally euphoric at the same time. We drove around the Lofoten Islands in search of a hike, then refueled with local pale ales, cinnamon rolls, and ridiculously good carrot soup. White sheep speckled the hillsides, and each mountain peak looked so lush it demanded to be plastered onto a damn postcard. We played cards for so long that we missed our dinner reservation and had to pick up supplies to make peanut butter sandwiches in the hotel room. After returning, we realized we accidentally purchased gluten-free potato bread that tasted god-awful. We laughed ourselves into tears, then fell asleep watching White Lotus in bed. It was perfect.

I don’t think aging has to be scary or flooded with high expectations. I acknowledge the pressure of getting older, but I do believe it can just as easily be reframed or self-contained. You’re the architect of your future, and it is empowering to command your own blueprints. To live, despite the obstacles and blemishes, is very much a gift filled with many unexpected possibilities. Whether I learn guitar, write a film, or adopt a sweet orange kitten this year, it’s less about the specifics and more about knowing I can build it up, burn it down, and start again. To be here - at 33, at all - is proof that life always has more to give, and I’m eager to meet tomorrow.

-Connor