today is my last day of being 33 years old. why do i feel like my life is frittering away and i’m still stuck in the mindset of an eight year old?
i don’t feel particularly old; when thinking of years past, it feels like it wasn’t that long ago, that it was something that just happened. even lingering over my gradeschool years feels like i just left it.
there’s something to be said for taylor’s swift’s song “22” – it is kind of the culminating point of your young years. she says: “We’re happy free confused and lonely at the same time.
It’s miserable and magical.” can’t really argue with that. my dad waxes eloquent about 1955 all the time. the food, the movies, the trips he took, the people he befriended, even his ex-girlfriend who he started dating that year. how old was he? 22. will 2001 be my “best year”? so far, i feel like it is.
but, as my age switches from the big 33 to the even bigger 34 tomorrow, there’s something to be said for getting a little older. and as i sit here trying to think of what actually could be said about getting older, i can’t come up with anything. i don’t FEEL any different even though i have to be. i still FEEL like i’m 8, though the seconds, minutes, months, and years keep piling up next to my grey hair, wrinkles that are getting more prominent, and hands that show a little more age than i would like.
c’est la vie, i guess. as gretchen rubin said:
“the days are long but the years are short.”