So I didn’t update on Tuesday. If you were disappointed, sorry about that. I really should’ve had something written in advance, or at least put up a warning that there would be no update. I shan’t do it again.
It was my birthday on Tuesday. 26 years old. I was always the baby, the youngest in my family, among the youngest in my year at school. Somewhere along the way, this changed. I fell in with a younger crowd. Not significantly younger, but for the first time I was the oldest. It was a bizarre experience. I don’t think I dealt with it particularly well.
This isn’t really going anywhere. I’m in a pensive mood. I just keep thinking about all those platitudes people trot out at times like this, about how you’re still young, how age is only a number and that you’re only as old as you feel. There’s some truth in those, I think, but not as much as I’d like. My brother (five years my senior) sent me an honest e-mail about getting to the other side of your 20s, and it’s all I’ve got to go on as far as useful advice is concerned.
I don’t know; I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting older. Age is a number, and it can be misinterpreted, but it’s also a symbol of your experience. It’s not as simple as age = wisdom, but the longer you spend doing something, the more you can take a step back and be thoughtful about it. Living is no different.
I know I’m supposed to be depressed at a time like this, but I think I’d rather be 26 than 21. Like Eugene Hutz once said, “I never want to be young again.”