Your 30s in Lubbock are a weird in-between stage. You’re too old to be “figuring it out,” but somehow still very much figuring it out. You own furniture now. Real furniture. Some of it might be from the dumpster, but that’s beside the point. You’ve at least upgraded from lawn chairs. But you still don’t understand taxes, and every email from the IRS feels threatening.
Divorce is no longer shocking. It’s just something that happens. Half your friends are divorced, the other half are “basically roommates with benefits,” and everyone has a story that starts with, “We were just really young.” Which is true. We were. Lubbock ages relationships like milk in the summer sun.
Pets have replaced children in many households (mine is one), and they’re treated with the same seriousness. Dogs have anxiety. Cats have attitudes. Vet bills hit harder than student loans. You will absolutely cancel plans because your pet “seems off,” even though you don’t fully trust your own mental health either. It’s a thing.
Jobs? You have one. Maybe two. The one you love usually doesn’t pay the bills. The one you hate barely does, but it sucks the life out of you. You’ve mastered the art of telling your parents “It’s fine” when it is definitely not fine. Your career dreams have been replaced with “at least I don’t cry the moment I reach my car anymore.” You’re making progress. It’s just really hard to measure…