I’m 42. I happened to be thrust onto this planet 42 years ago, almost 43. I could’ve been born 12 years ago. Or 2300 years ago. Or 17,000 years into the future.
But, whether I wanted to or not, it was 42 years, 11 months ago that I entered this particular Timeline.
My age only bothered me twice:
Once when I was 17, a day before my 18th birthday, and thought, “End of childhood.” I was right and wrong. Adult world has been both easier and harder, mostly easier, and childhood? Eh, left it yet never left it. It was far less of a big deal than I thought at the time.
Also at 17, I imagined how I’d look when I was in my early/mid 40s. Look at that profile picture: that’s it.
The other time is when I was 20. I was like, “Not a teenager, not an adult. Not a teenager not an adult”. For some reason, that bothered me greatly.
After 21, I didn’t give a rat’s tail about my age.
I’m just happy I’m not dead. Also, I enjoy the heck out of the moments in each day that I’m not in the middle of dreading. I’m still in the – between the day I was born and the day I’m gonna die. Good enuf.
Yeah, marketing is stupid. 30 is the new 20. No, 30 is 30, 20 is 20. They can’t even do numbers right.