On Our Way To Crazy

I am, as a general rule, comfortable with my age. I like being twenty-nine. I touched on some of this on my birthday… I wasn’t great at my young twenties. I mean, I loved them, but I didn’t do them quite right. I’m not a big party-er. I never lived in a tiny apartment with four other people in a big city (although I would have liked that, I think). I got married at twenty-one. I don’t know who let me get away with that, but it happened.

I feel like my late twenties have suited me a bit better. I feel more settled into my life, more settled into who I am. I think the biggest change is how non-competitive I feel these days. In college and for quite a while after, I was CONSTANTLY comparing myself to everyone around me. I wanted to be the most successful, or the most happily married, or the one with the cutest house, or the one with the best clothes. This was particularly true with my girlfriends from high school – all my life, we had competed for starting spots on sports teams and for boyfriends and for senior superlatives. Even though we were adults, more or less, that competitiveness didn’t go away. I wanted to WIN.

I am truly thankful to be (mostly) past that stage of my life. I still compare myself, for sure, and am certainly self-conscious around people I perceive to be cooler or more interesting or funnier than I am. But on the whole, I’m starting to get it together. I can love another girl’s quirky style and funky hair without thinking I need to have it myself. I have flat hair and wear jeans every day. It’s okay.

Here’s the catch, though. It’s one thing to see yourself as a little past that stage of your life and feel okay about it. It’s a whole nother deal when someone younger than you confirms it. Like when, say, a ‘young adults’ group is put together at church and you are not included. Because YOU ARE NOT A YOUNG ADULT. Ouch.

I’m not gonna lie, you guys, this development gave me a bit of a complex. One side of my brain was calm and collected, saying, “You don’t want to be in that group. You are not a part of the same world they live in. They don’t even know who sang ‘Hangin Tough’. Your friends are in their thirties. You like them better. It’s all fine.” But the other side was freaking the hell out. Not a part of the young adults group? What? I’m hip! I’m cool! I’ve got the 411! When did this shift happen? When did I change demographics? Where is my walker?

It’s been a week or so since I turned old in the eyes of others, and I have come to terms with it. I am happy with my place in life. I much prefer wine in an interesting restaurant to shots in a loud bar. I’m okay with staying in for New Year’s. I like board games A LOT. I’m seriously considering moving to the suburbs. I play Scrabble online with my grandpa. It works for me.

But, man, that whole ordeal was a shock to my system. It’s a lot easier to be okay with who you are when who you are isn’t being confirmed by a bunch of kids who don’t want to hang out with you because you’re OLD.