Getting Older and Liking It (Probably Too Much)

I know I don’t look a day over 21. That’s what all the birthday* cards say, so it must be accurate. But the truth is: I’m getting older — laugh lines, early bedtime, the whole nine yards.

I miss being younger at times. I miss being able to do, drink, eat whatever. If I eat a basket of cheesy fries now… well, I’ve never had an enema, but I imagine it would produce similar results.

Youth is awesome. There’s no doubt about that. But apparently so is aging… and here’s why:

Wisdom is a real thing.
You know more simply by existing longer. As a result, you fear less. The world stops being some unknown, scary place. You’ve probably been there and you’ve definitely done that — or at least something very similar. So when a problem arises, it’s less “OMG” and more “alcohol can fix that.”

You can bask in your awesomenesss.
You’ve worked the long hours, pulled the all-nighters, came in on weekends. You struggled — even cried at your desk here and there — and it’s paying off. You’re no longer someone’s lowly intern. No more fetching coffee in the hopes of being hired. No more settling for job that doesn’t make you feel fulfilled.

You finally have a career, not just a job. And it’s glorious. So go ahead girl, flip your hair one time.

Your friends get old, too.
Everyone around you is officially an adult — adults with babies or bags under their eyes (or both). Dancing in the Lower East Side is now a distant memory. The heels have retired. Clubs now refer to sandwiches.

My friends cannot handle life after 10 p.m. And I could not love them more for it. I hope we’ll all start a knitting club soon, because sitting down is always a good idea.

Aging uses up all your fucks.
The number of fucks you can give become very limited.

She thinks your skirt is too short. Nada fucks. He thinks you’re rude. The give-a-fuck flight has been cancelled. They think you have a drinking problem. You would love to spare a fuck, but you just spent the last one on antacids.

Either you’ve become much bolder. Or caring just takes too much effort. Either way, you don’t have enough fucks to examine your life like that.

*Uyensday is 44 days away. There is a countdown in progress, of course.


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