Your twenties are over. The days of lolling around, wasting time, looking rested on three hours of sleep, and casually making bad decisions are gone. Or are they? It may seem like you need to make the correct decisions in your thirties if you want to set yourself up for success, but that’s not true. You always have options, so don’t let the pressure get to you! Don’t believe me? Consider the following:
If by thirty you don’t have a solid dental-hygiene routine, your options are:
- Make an appointment at the most expensive dentist in the city, beg her for forgiveness for your years of not flossing, accept the price of four thousand dollars for half an X-ray (how they cut it in half isn’t explained), and allow her to pump you full of novocaine as she works her magic on your decrepit teeth.
- Move to the U.K.
If by thirty-one you don’t have a retirement plan, your options are:
- Forgo all vacations and dinners out with friends in order to funnel thirty-eight per cent of your salary into your 401(k) so that you can retire at seventy-five and spend your remaining years playing bridge and continuing to work part time.
- Plug your ears with your fingers whenever the topic comes up in conversation.
If by thirty-two you don’t have a skin-care routine, your options are:
- Empty your bank account and commit forty-five minutes of every hour to the careful application of retinol cream and the Googling of which Vitamin C serums are just a hoax (hint: all of them).
- Start dressing as a raisin for Halloween. It’ll barely require a costume.
If by thirty-three you haven’t found career satisfaction, your options are:
- Stay at the job you have, work until eight every night, strap your smartphone to your hand so you’re never off the grid, and hope that if you stick it out for another twenty years, you’ll finally start getting weekends off.
- Ask your parents if they’re secretly wealthy. If not, get different parents.
If by thirty-four you’re still single, your options are:
- Get a facelift, hire a consultant to craft the perfect Hinge profile, pay five thousand dollars to a matchmaker, and dramatically lower your standards.
- Another cat.
If by thirty-five you have heartburn, your options are:
- Run six miles every day. Sorry to your knees.
- Start writing your will. Fortunately, it shouldn’t be that difficult, since you contributed only thirty-eight per cent to your 401(k).
If by thirty-six you still don’t know what a Roth I.R.A. is, your options are:
- Sell all your clothes on Poshmark.
- Gambling. Any kind is fine—sports, reality TV, betting on which of your friends’ babies will be most annoying . . .
If by thirty-seven you don’t have a satisfying social life, your options are:
- Continue to gather your college friends for monthly dinner parties, even though fewer and fewer people come each time, and it’s kind of clear that your lives have all veered in different directions, and there’s basically nothing left to your friendships. For example, Nancy had a child, which is the only thing she talks about. What did she talk about before she had a child? You can’t remember—it was so long ago.
- Join a cult. It’s the only way to make new friends in your thirties.
If by thirty-eight you don’t own a home, your options are:
- Reconsider the definition of “home.” Maybe you don’t need to live in the city. Or the suburbs. Or a rural area. Maybe you’d be O.K. with a large enough sublet that comes with six roommates and an iguana. And what about squatters’ rights? Those could work in your favor. Google it.
- Lotto tickets.
If by thirty-nine you haven’t started a family, your options are:
- Maybe sell your kidney to pay for I.V.F.?
- Another cat.
If by forty you still don’t have every single part of your life figured out, your options are:
- None. You’re finally free. ♦
