Meandering Thoughts: On Turning 30.

In 1984, one of my favorite bands, R.E.M., released their second album – called “Reckoning,” it was an energized blast of jangle-and-stomp rock and roll. Lead singer Michael Stipe spent the bulk of the album obscuring words and half-phrases; from what I can understand, it was considered “cool” to try to decipher R.E.M. lyrics at that period in time. Anyway, one of the few phrases that could be understood on that album came at the beginning of the album’s last song, “Little America,” as the then-24 year old Stipe hollered, “I don’t see myself at 30/I don’t buy a lacquered 30.”

Initially, this was interpreted as the determinably-obscure Stipe’s version of the rock-and-roll clarion call, “I hope I die before I get old,” which continues to echo over the airwaves of classic rock radio in the attitudes and poses of acts from Buddy Holly to Nirvana. However, as Stipe got older, he backed away from that attitude, saying that – for him, it wasn’t a case of not living until he was 30, but rather, it was about not remaining preserved as he got older and older – not being “lacquered” like a fly in amber for view, but enjoying the flux that comes as part of life’s rich pageant.

Well, today is my thirtieth birthday. It may seem like a nothing milestone to some folks, but heck, I’ve never been thirty before, so it’s a little weird for me. Like Michael Stipe, when I was 24, I couldn’t see myself at 30, and I sure as shoot didn’t want to be preserved for display, with my best work behind me. I also didn’t want to ever be like any of the characters in the television show “Thirtysomething,” who, in my limited exposure to the television show, I found generally whiny and neurotic without ever really seeming anything other than privileged and bratty. Also, I wasn’t crazy about that show’s abuse of denim shirts, processed hair, and pleated khakis.

Since my exposure to those two touchstones, I’ve learned a few things. I’ve learned that life will always be vital if you allow it to be – if you stop moving, and stop trying, you’re all but doomed to the lacquered, preserved 30 of as seen in “Thirtysomething” where you can’t see the forest for the upper-class trees. I’d like to say that I’ve learned to embrace the struggle, but I’m still working on that. But, as best as I can figure, that’s just as good as anything else.