The 30-year Itch

My 20s were wild, my 30s just seem wildly exhausting

- Niraj Kakade

Not to sound dramatic, but 29 feels more dramatic than 30 ever could. It’s like standing in the middle of a metaphorical tug-of-war. On one end, my 20s pull me towards one last round of poor decisions and even poorer dating choices—but at least they’ve got a disco light. On the other, my 30s beckon with cashmere pullovers, fluffy duvets, and the promise of stability—tempered by chronic back pain, a 10 pm bedtime, and zero patience for first-date small talk about favourite colours.

And yet, through it all, the need for a partner lingers—like background noise I couldn’t quite mute. So, in true millennial fashion, I spiralled—mostly under the influence—and cycled through downloading and deleting dating apps like they were cursed objects. What went wrong? Where did my great love story go off track? Somehow, I’d Benjamin Buttoned my way through romance.

At 18, I realised I was attractive. At 19, I found someone who tolerated both my face and my terrible puns (a rare combination). By 20, we were discussing baby names. The plan was airtight: move in by 25, get married at 27, pop out the first kid by 30.

The problem? I took the role too seriously. I became, for lack of a better term, a childless dad. A walking embodiment of weekend lawn-mowing energy—complete with a protruding beer belly, dad glasses, and polo shirts stretched to their limits, buttons pleading for mercy. It wasn’t until an Uber driver casually asked how many kids I had that I realised just how deep I’d sunk.