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Aside From The Dysfunctional Hormones Aging Is Pretty Fucking Cool
When you turn thirty, there’s the swift euphoria that overtakes you, as you aggressively bid adieu to your twenties, and prepare for the full scale of womanhood.
Contrary to popular opinion, being twenty-something wasn’t so bad, and in fact I would it again. It was truly the decade of glorious discovery and life-changing adventures that commenced when I moved to New York City at the age of twenty-four.
Almost twenty years later, I’m not exactly draped with the pearls of wisdom that I should’ve amassed as a labeled mid-lifer; neither am I riding the wave of the appropriately envisioned high expectations with the practiced cockiness of a victor.
But I have blessedly reached the point in life, when it suddenly dawns on you that the person from 2004, will undoubtedly envy the calmer version of 2018, and wonder why it took so long for the “don’t give two fucks” mechanism to kick in.
And that’s perhaps the greatest gift that aging can bestow with quiet gusto as you begin to make the transition into the realm of existence, where everything is so vividly clear that you could potentially lose your eyesight, if you stare at the gems for too long.
You can finally enjoy those periodic trips down memory lane that don’t leave you with a bitter…
