A fellow (older, wiser) poet at the Squaw Valley poetry reading last week learned I’m 30 and sighed, “The thirties. Those are challenging years. Lots of choices.” I felt a rush of relief, like she shared the secret that I’ve only recently fumbled into… finding this video essay today was another strange affirmation that this sinkhole of a time exists, and I might be in it. The idea of “the difficult years” sounds pessimistic at face value, but I think I might embrace it anyway. (found via Brain Pickings)