I've been dreading this since I turned 26.

Kind of like the last day of summer vacation, or a delayed prison sentence. You know the time of reckoning is off somewhere in the distance, quietly looming, staring you in the face like a light at the end of the tunnel as you ride the train toward inevitability.

And then, finally, it arrives. That gloomy day when things must change. The day you turn 30.

In just under two weeks I'll be celebrating - and I use that term loosely - the big 3-0 I guess it shouldn't really be cause for concern. If anything I should be grateful to be alive, healthy and another year wiser.

However, this is not really the case. I know I'm not the only one who has struggled with turning 30, and I'm sure when I'm about to turn 40 I'll kick myself for not realizing how good I had it 10 years before, but there is a certain amount of symbolism inherent in saying goodbye to your 20s that I'm not sure I'm ready to embrace. I've tried to look on the bright side. Yes, age is just a number and you're only as old as you feel and look.

Many people - from store clerks to interviewees and acquaintances - think I'm younger than I am, which is flattering and momentarily uplifting.

And let's not forget that Jay-Z said 30 is the new 20 - I can definitely live with that.

Still, there are a few serious drawbacks to my impending age bracket.

For one, it's going to be a lot harder to tease all my friends in their mid-40s for being "old." All they have to do is laugh and say "you're 30!" and my argument immediately folds.

And considering this column is designed for 20-somethings, I may be disqualified from writing anything further. Maybe they can start a new column for me - Life 202, the Later Years.

Worst of all, I actually have to tell people I'm 30. No matter how I may feel or look, I'm still locked in. I still have to live with the invisible weight that hangs as you admit you've crossed the threshold from young to actual adulthood.

Unless, of course, I come up with a creative way around this, such as telling people I'm 22, then when they find out my real age, saying "oh, I thought you meant how old I felt."

Hopefully once the dust settles I'll realize that age is little more than a number and I really do have it good. I can be the new 20 without being as clueless and lost as I was when I was actually 20.

There's no teacher like life, and with 30 years of it under my belt, I've learned the kind of lessons they don't print in textbooks. The kind that seem costly at the time but are ultimately priceless; the blessings in disguise. LAUREN CARTER, a frequent Sun Chronicle contributor, can be reached at lauren-carter@hotmail.com.