While it’s true that I’m still “young,” I’ve started to encounter little life moments that make me feel helluh old and 100% unaware of what the “cool kids” are doing.
A few months ago, I switched hair colorists/stylists. I used to go to this new artist academy because the prices were amaze balls – except that I never knew who I’d get and it’d end up being a constant revolving door of awkward small talk that gave me PTSD from my online dating years. So I jumped ship.
I ended up at a salon owned by the same company a bit closer to me, and I met Millie and Robert (names changed for obvious reasons). Millie and I immediately bonded over shared wedding planning love/hate, and she told me she’d gotten married the year before and she and her husband were pregnant. I thought, “Oh, that’s nice, and one day when I’m her age I’ll probably be ready for that, too!”
“How old are you?” She asked.
“27,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, so we’re pretty much the same age – I just turned 26.”
You know that moment when you suddenly feel as if you’re in Inception with Leo DiCaprio and the whole world is not what it used to be and you’re not sure if you’re dreaming and everything is suddenly wrong because you’re not the youngest in the room anymore? Right. Me neither.
Enter my hair stylist, Robert. Robert and I immediately bonded over general personality traits and shared life experiences. Except that I’m 27 and haven’t been “to the bars” in years while he was about to embark on his second bachelor party in a month and get wasted in Uptown at bars I didn’t know existed because they absolutely did not exist when I went “to the bars.” He was 21.
The last time I partied he was a child in high school. A baby. An infant. A tiny human.
Lord, help me.
In an instant, under that beautifully flattering salon light, I began to count my wrinkles and maneuver my eyebrows in a way that didn’t pucker the skin between my eyes because hope is a powerful thing.
As I listened to Robert’s tale of finding a sugar daddy at LA pride last week, I thought of all the HILARIOUS dating/love stories of mine in the olden days when we walked uphill to school both ways. In all fairness, I did have a blast when I was livin’ it up like good ‘ol Robert – I learned a lot about myself and earned a confidence that sticks with me to this day. But lest I fall into the trap of nostalgia and think it was all fairies and glitter, I do have to remind myself that I also had to learn a lot about how crappy the hell hole of dating is and what torture is in the form of waiting for a text reply. Every story has its pros and cons, my friends. And we almost always forget about the cons of the “fun times.”
To be fair, getting older has its fun – wisdom (still have to learn that one), relaxation, independence, and all the other things that Rose from Titanic taught us. And like being a youngin’, it’s got its cons, too. I have to use face creams now. I wear sun hats and am considering permanently switching to one pieces (10 bonus points if they include a ruffled skirt attachment). Also, I have no idea what the inside of a bar looks like past 8pm. But unlike how I felt about the cons of my early twenties (OH MY GOD IF HE DOESN’T TEXT BACK MY LIFE IS OVER / I LOOKED AWFUL IN THAT SKIRT I’M GOING TO BURN IT / THIS PARTY IS SO BORING MY LIFE MUST BE WORTHLESS WHERE ARE ALL THE FUN THINGS), most of the old age cons are, to me, just on the surface – they really don’t matter in the grand scheme of it all.
So for now, I’m learning to accept not being the youngest in the room, and I’m reminding myself that life is better when you get to live momentarily in adventure by proxy on occasion (without having to do it all yourself). I’ll happily hop on the tail end of Robert’s future adventures because guess what? My 27-year-old ass gets to then go home with my newly fluffed and colored hair to my tiny house with my own hunky Leo/fiancé and our 2 dogs and cat and wake up feeling AMAZING and not hung over one bit.
So I guess getting older’s alright. Plus, it’s summer and what’s more fun than gardening?? Nothing. Nothing at all.
Time to mix my Metamucil and take my pills. Catch ya on the flip side, youth.