Picking up from yesterday,
Isn’t it odd how there seems to be this tiny window somewhere in your early twenties where you’re old enough to not be considered too new and inexperienced anymore, but you’re young enough to be considered hip (or whatever)? You get something like three days of being perfect until the world thinks you’re all flawed again.
And even though the world pushes for it, who honestly hits their peak at that age? I mean, seriously! If I’m not cooler in ten years than I am right now, how awful would that be? What will I have done with that decade?
Getting older doesn’t automatically make you cooler. I have definitely been ruminating (read: super over-thinking) on life in this time around my birthday. I’ll freely admit that in some really important ways I’m not nearly as awesome as I used to be. (I don’t even care if that sounds conceited about my high school self. She was flawed for sure, but she was amazing. Let’s get real. :))
Moving back to, I suppose, maybe, a point I was kind of making – getting older doesn’t mean any specific thing. It doesn’t mean you’re gonna get more cool. It doesn’t mean you’re gonna get less cool. It doesn’t mean you’re going to realize your dreams. It doesn’t mean you have to give up. A birthday is just another day in another year. A number is just a number – a number that summarizes the time you’ve been alive based around vernal equinoxes or something like that. Who cares how many times the Earth has orbited the Sun in our lifetime? (As you can tell here, I don’t really know anything about astronomy or calendars.)
Just live, right?
Maybe someday I’ll be able to say my age out loud with pride. Maybe someday society will stop putting an expiration date on women. It could happen… Maybe.
Until that day, I’ll just get stupidly offended and super duper weird if you ask me what my age is. So please, just don’t ask. I think my absolute worst quality is caring way, way, way too much about what other people think. (That could be a whole set of blog posts in itself, especially if I were to start talking about perceived beauty standards in America. So, let’s not talk about that today.)
Whenever people are curious about anything about me, including my age, I do appreciate their being interested in my life. I’m not trying to hide who I am. But I don’t think that my age is part of who I am. I don’t think that the things that you have absolutely no control over define who you are. Your attitude toward others, your kindness and compassion, your dreams and actions – those are things that make up you. The year your parents made the decision to have kids – that’s not you.
An affinity toward youth is ingrained in our culture. People often use “young” as a compliment. “My, you’re looking so young today.” “Your face is looking so young!” “This will help you look 10 years younger.” And I do it it too. I am one of the worst offenders. I take it as a compliment when people mistake me for a teenager or call me young. I give it as a compliment sometimes, as well. I know I shouldn’t, and I try to stop myself. It’s hard! Here in America, we really put youth on a pedestal for some reason. I don’t know why, but we do.
I’ve talked a lot today, so I’ll pick up here (and end the rant!) tomorrow.