There's something indescribable that happens when you hit 30. I mean, I can't substantiate this claim based off anything other than my own personal experience, but yes, something definitely happens.
Maybe it's in the fourth decade of life where one's ascension into adulthood reaches cruising altitude.
For me, the social anxieties that once dominated my twenties have slowly subsided while the paternal trappings of this so-called "settling down" period have yet to set in. I no longer care so much if my socks match or if I'm seen at that trendy new bar/restaurant down the street but I also don't own a home, much less mow my lawn.
In a sense, I'm somewhere in between grown up and a grown-up.
It's one part personality, one part personal preference that I've found myself comfortably positioned here in this most agreeable season of life where responsibility fits like a loose turtle-neck.
Summer, in a lot of ways, is the perfect metaphor for life in your late twenties and early thirties. These are blessed days where the sun shines, decisions are care-free and made with little consequence. And also, there's always pie.
If you're anything like me you regularly hear yourself saying things like: "man, I can't believe it's (insert day/month/year)" or "can you believe (insert season) is already over?"
But as they say: time flies when you're having fun.