Please don't trip on all the metaphors

If a girl turns 30 and no one comes to her birthday party, does she really age?

For the past few months I have been riding unstrapped from the seats of a mental rollercoaster, fluctuating between being manically high on life and on top of my game, yet chronically anxious about leaving my 20's. The ride up is exhilarating; but the free falls, life-sucking. At the top I literally want to shout for joy, or at least sing out loud with the radio; on the way down I want to puke my guts out. And then maybe some other organs so I can at least look more like I did five years ago. Welcome to Six Flags: Bipolar Circle.

When I'm not talking myself into believing that gray is the new blond or welcoming the bags that have unpacked themselves for a permanent vacation under my eyes, I'm thinking about what would happen if I planned a birthday party and only four people came. Because while I have a great number of friends here in LA, I'm worried that only a fraction of that number constitutes a great friend. By "great friend" I mean someone who would know what to do when I, for no visible reason, start crying into my beer glass. (Hint: get me something stronger.)

Am I being needlessly insecure? Yes, probably. But it's an unfamiliar feeling that I don't know what to do with, other than numb with leftover vicodin. If it weren't such a milestone, I wouldn't give it a second thought. But 30 was always considered some far-off, phantom, random age - one my former sorority sisters and I could surely not relate to or ever grow to be; yet one by one we have all succombed, and we have all faced the same nagging question: what do we have to show for it?

Quite a lot, of course. My friends all work interesting, important jobs in major cities, have supportive families, and, in general, live thriving lives. I'm not questioning the lack of goodness in my own life or doubting that I, myself, am responsible for making good happen. I just can't help but wonder, at what point will "good" ever be good enough?

Maybe by 40 I'll start seeing the green in my own backyard. That is, if I can get off the rollercoaster long enough to plant some roots.