Thoughts on Aging

 Lol, I just remembered the age I’m turning this year, and hold on—let me sit down. Suddenly, my bones are more rickety, my knees have this pain that sort of comes and goes. Guys, we were literally turning 10 just the other day. Remember when someone asked, “How old are you?” and you proudly said, “I’m this many!”—only to realize the number out of your mouth did not match the number on your fingers?! Omg, tears in my eyes, fr.

Like… where did the time go? But also-where did the time go??? (Read that in different intonations; you’ll get it. Rapper okk.)

But honestly, I think aging is a privilege. A diva does not die at 21. A diva is eternal. And I used to pray for times like these—well, not exactly these. (Seated at my desk at work on a cold day when I should be home, in bed, and born into filthy generational wealth with a horse named Pipa). But I did pray for my 20-somethings, for some kind of liberty and autonomy. And it’s cool, for the most part…

Until I need to be put through to customer care because excuse me?? I’m literally still a child??

A running joke in most of my circles is that this is the decade we all graduate from just our names to Mr./Mrs. So-and-So. Some will become parents, some will die—ok fine fine, I’ll turn the lights back on.

But I do like that we’ll fully grow into ourselves. And shoutout to you if you already don’t care for external validation and performative existence. Right now, I think most of us still do—to some extent—but later? We won’t. And that’s cool. We’ll have stories to tell about our 20s, the laughs, the in-betweens. Last year, I actually made it to not one, but two political protests, and I cannot wait to dress that up for the kids and grandkids. Think all the hyperbole.

So yeah, aging is cool, me thinks. But if you find me tomorrow and my opinion has changed—well, we’re literally on a floating rock. Where’s the wiggle room?