I turn 35 tomorrow, or as I like to call it: halfway to 70.
Seriously though, 35 feels significant. For one thing, people ask me when I’m having kids on a near daily basis. (Please stop). I’ve also been living on my own longer than I’d lived with my parents.
I was 17 when I left home to go to Berkeley, and it’s weird to reflect on what I was like back then. On one hand, I was the same cerebral introvert who cared deeply about food and my body. On the other hand, those qualities manifested in all the worst possible ways.
On one of the first days of school we did an ice breaking exercise in one of the classes I was taking (Music 27). The Grad Student Instructor running the section asked us to go around the room and introduce ourselves by saying our name, where we were from, and our favorite cuisine.
This was clearly no big deal for most people, but it put me into a heated panic. What was I going to say? I had never thought about my favorite cuisine before.
As my turn approached I heard people saying they loved Italian food, Chinese food and Indian food. I couldn’t even imagine eating those things, since I basically lived on Diet Coke and non-fat yogurt.