I don't know about you, but all the thirty-somethings I know, including me, seem to be drowning in stress. It's an odd phenomena, because for the most part, we have no "real" problems. Sure, the economy has tanked, the real estate market is in the crapper and our skinny jeans get tighter by the month, but on most levels, most folks I know are doing just fine.

They are generally healthy, attractive, educated, make good money, own homes and cars. Some are single, some are married. Some have children, others are child-free. Some are artists, some are stuffed shirts. Some are straight, some are gay. All are relatively well-adjusted, smart, motivated men and women who have the bulk of their upwardly mobile lives in front of them. But all that doesn't stop us from being scared to death. I call this condition the "30 Worries."

In 2003, Barry Schwartz released a book called "The Paradox of Choice." In it he warned of the danger of excessive choice. He posits that choice overload can make you question your decisions before you even make them, set you up for unrealistically high expectations and make you blame yourself for all failures. Over time, Schwartz theorizes, this can lead to anxiety, decision-making paralysis, constant stress. In his view, "unlimited choice" can "produce genuine suffering." It seems the unlimited opportunity America has prided itself on, is driving us all batty.

I'm starting to see that maybe there's something to that. Because most of us can choose to do whatever we want; our failures or our shortcomings are all our own. There's no blaming society, glass ceilings, discrimination, lack of opportunity, an arranged marriage--it's just you and your decisions. When things go bad, it's you and your decisions. When things go great, it's you and your decisions.

And when you have no idea what the next 10 years will look like ( and I mean NO idea).... It all comes down to you and your decisions. The 30 Worries.

I will be the first to admit that my 30s have been the highlight of my life. In my teens I was awkward, insecure and socially maladjusted. In my twenties, I got a little more attractive and had an absolute blast, but I was silly, drank too much, wasted a lot of time and made lots of bad choices. So here come the 30s: I got some good sense and I am suddenly comfortable in my own skin.

I've applied all the life lessons I've learned in my teens and 20s, and for all intents and purposes, I'm doing okay. That doesn't stop me, though, from being constantly stressed out about where my life is going.

It's a stress I haven't quite experienced before. There's something about your 30s that adds a certain gravitas to every decision. Everything becomes some kind of crossroad. Every date is a potential spouse, every job is a major career move, each period brings you closer to running out of eggs. There is an enormous amount of self-imposed pressure to figure it all out. Whatever "it" is.

Maybe it's the Diddy factor: we are bombarded by images of uber-successful or wildly wealthy men and women who are our age or even younger than us. The mayors of our cities are now our peers. So we look at ourselves and think, Sheesh, what have we done with our lives and is it enough?

Friends who have jobs now wonder is this really what they want to do, friends who don't have jobs feel like total failure, those who have their own businesses wonder if they should pursue a career path with a little more security, and those who want to start businesses struggle with the decision whether to leave the safety of their current positions for an uncertain future.

We're suddenly too sensible. We feel as if it's too late to make any major mistakes. The stakes are suddenly so high for everything. We're afraid if we don't get married and have kids we'll regret it and afraid if we do get married and have kids...we'll regret it. Yet, at some point (and soon), a decision must be made, and hopefully, it won't be the wrong one.

In the meantime, we try to drown out the cacophony and self-doubt in our heads with $12 cocktails at fancy city bars, Facebook, prescription drugs, sex, gossip blogs and Golden Girls re-runs (okay, maybe that's just me). And it's odd, because at any point, if someone asked you what you were worried about, it's doubtful you would be able to articulate exactly what is bothering you. On paper you look awesome. You have checked off all the items on the checklist that are supposed to guarantee a successful life. But somehow, strangely, you feel anything but successful. Its like the war in Afghanistan or the health care bill, you no longer have any idea what success really means anymore. Is it domestic bliss? Moguldom? Being independent and free? You no longer know, but you feel like you need to figure it out. And fast.

I need a drink.

Peace people...