As I was riding my bike earlier this afternoon, it dawned on me that I’m approaching the last weekend of my 20s. My birthday is on Tuesday – my 30th birthday. After that, I’ll never be a 20-something again. This little epiphany spawned a raging inner debate that still isn’t completely decided.

On one had, there’s the part of me that wants to hold onto my youth. “Go out,” she suggests. “Stay out all night, just because you can.”

On the other hand, there’s the part of me that’s turning 30. “Stay in and binge watch “The X-Files,” she urges. “You know you want to.” Peer pressure from yourself is the worst.

20s: You can go dancing.

30s: You can finish that hat you started knitting.

20s: There are so many great things happening in the city.

30s: True. You can catch a concert in a small bar and still binge watch your ’90s sci fi.

20s: Don’t you want to go out like you used to?

30s: Didn’t you say you were happy that those days are more or less behind you?

I have to say, I think almost 30-something me is more or less winning. As much as I feel nostalgic for the days when I used to dance the night away and as much as part of me would like to exit my 20s in a blaze of glory, I’d rather go hear some music (live music) and go home early enough to enjoy a nice breakfast the next day. Or just stay home and binge watch “The X-Files.” Whatever.