Today is my birthday. For moment I had to do some calculations to remember I am turning 34 years of age. It seems since turning 30, you don’t really keep precise track of how old you are. The entire decade of your 30s is just one giant blob. Only when it’s time for the big 40 will there be another existential crisis and reckoning. Much like how turning 30 was.
No need to lament getting older; it’s part of the natural process. It sure beats the opposite: death. A bit morbid, yes, but that’s how I like to keep things in perspective. I’m immensely grateful for another full turn of the calendar.
10 years ago when I turned 24 I wrote that I would play for the next decade. Once I turn 34, I will settle down and get serious about being an adult. Well, here I am 10 years later, and all I can say is: don’t make goals and predictions that far out into the future. What does “settling down” even mean anyways? Domesticity is definitely not something I want nor ready for. I’ve only barely moved out of my parents’ house last year! I’m enjoying the single and alone life quite well at the moment.
I bought a whole plate of poké from Costco yesterday and ate it all by myself. Tell me if that’s not the dream.
Besides, these last two years of the COVID-19 pandemic definitely put the timeline (so to speak) on pause. It’s partly why I forgot how old I was turning today. What chance is there to properly celebrate birthdays when it isn’t safe to gather together? No matter how much we’ve improved or what skill we learned during these times, the coronavirus era is definitely lost years.
What I’m saying is: that pseudo pledge I made 10 years ago? Doesn’t count! Not yet, anyways: I need at least two years tacked on top. Cheers to many more returns.
Absolutely no filter.