What’s My Age Again?

New theme? I think I like it. It only took me, you know, an hour and a half to decide on one. I may keep it, I may change it. We will just have to see! Also, I am sorry for the picture overload from yesterday, I just wanted to share everything. A picture says a thousand words, you know.


So I discovered this website that posts a question every day; some are silly and some are serious, but they are supposed to be provocative. So to give your Monday some thought, I am going to post the question and give you my answer. The website has an app, too, if you are interested in checking that out. Feel free to comment your thoughts!

How do you feel about aging?

Well, in the simplest way: aging is inevitable. We have yet to come up with a way to stop someone from growing older–or even slow down the process. Every year, every day even, you get older. But this means you gain age, not maturity, as much as I wish it were both.

When I was young, I just wanted to get older. I was one of the oldest kids in my class, and I loved it. I felt like I had a leg up on everyone else. However, once all the other girls started getting “boyfriends” and developing, while I was awkward and a late-bloomer, my slightly older age seemed to mean nothing anymore. I was no longer the one doing everything first. Actually getting older was the only thing I thought would give me experience. I was wrong about that, but it is a learning process.

When I turned thirteen, I threw my first real party. It was at a small bowling alley and I invited almost everyone in my class and then some family friends. It was the biggest party I’d ever thrown–not counting the family ones my mother planned. I was the first of my friends to become a teenager, and I didn’t mind being older than all of them–I still don’t.

I also thought I would be the first to drive because I turned sixteen before everyone else, but here I am, nineteen and only a permit. Hey, I walked to school, and insurance costs a lot of money I don’t have.

Then eighteen came, and I couldn’t be happier. I wanted to buy all the lotto tickets I could get my hands on. And vote. I couldn’t wait to vote! Mostly because I really hated under-age people posting things about an election where their opinion does not matter. That’s harsh, I know, but it’s true! If you can’t vote for it, you don’t have a say. But as an eighteen year-old, did I want to buy cigarettes? Was I dying to go to a strip club? No. A country line dancing club, maybe. I guess you could say legality was wasted on me.

The reason I am older is because I missed the “cut-off” at my elementary school. I went to one of the public schools for a year (where I was the youngest) and then re-took Kindergarten at St. Francis. My mom and I always talked about me skipping a grade, but it wouldn’t be right. I loved my friends, and I wouldn’t really feel a part of the class ahead of me. So there I was: older and more mature. It didn’t help when I wanted to like boys in my class, but they were all younger than me. Even in high school, I was unsure about dating guys in my grade, especially because the average age has gone on a major decline through the years. The other thing was, I was never the dating type anyway; high school relationships annoy me most of the time.

Adults seem to hate when they have yet another birthday. One year older means one less year to live. Sometimes, they have regrets of not accomplishing something. It is the milestone birthdays that really get you, though: thirty, fifty, etc. It seems that after a person turns twenty-one, their life is over. Maybe that is why the store Forever 21 is so popular; people really do want to stay young.

Now, at nineteen, this boring year of my life, how do I feel? Well, I can’t say I’m too happy about the fact that next year I won’t be able to call myself a teenager, but I’m rolling with it. This year came with no milestone prize, but I am okay with that. I wanted another year of wisdom; and boy, did I get it. I have grown so much since last year. I love that I am a little bit more mature than other girls–and definitely boys–in my grade. It gives me an advantage for dating older. In college, you (or at least I) want to date on maturity level, not so much age. Since boys mature later than girls, this means I can go for an older guy. If you missed yesterday’s post where I called army-officer-Ronald-Reagan a babe, then you will see that this is a good thing.

In two years, I will be twenty-one, and able to drink. That “milestone prize” will be fairly wasted on me too, to be honest. I don’t drink now, and I don’t really want to much in the future. What kind of rebellious teenager am I? I have a feeling that as soon as I turn twenty-one, I will be right there with the rest of the adults: dreading my next birthday. I have said before that I celebrate my birthdays with pride because it means I have stayed alive and not given into the Dark Place, but maybe by twenty-one, I won’t need to do that anymore.

But that brings me back to my original point: aging is inevitable. We can’t stop it, so we might as well embrace it. Yes, I am afraid of what may happen in the future with our crazy society and advancements in technology and whatnot, but I can’t stop time from moving forward.

So there you go: I am okay with aging, I have accepted getting older. Now, if only I could find the secret to looking older–because this “I look like I’m fourteen” thing is not okay with me or my tendency to like older men.

But what about you? How do you feel about aging?



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