Reflecting on my early twenties feels like a blink ago. Those carefree days filled with wild nights, impulsive decisions, and questionable fashion choices may seem distant, but they linger in my memory with surprising clarity. Despite the passage of time, I often find it hard to reconcile my present life with those carefree moments.
Perhaps it’s my petite frame that leads others to assume I’m still of college age or that my children have gifted me with what I like to call “beauty sleep.” Let’s be honest, though—there’s no magic trick there. My husband and I have always seen ourselves as relatively cool parents. Sure, we bear more responsibilities, but we certainly don’t fit the stereotype of being old-fashioned, right? Wrong.
Just last week, we seized the rare opportunity for a child-free day and embarked on a blissful six-hour road trip. We turned off the endless loop of children’s songs and indulged in music of our own choosing. Junk food was consumed without the need to share, and I even managed to sneak in a nap. It turns out, traveling without kids is refreshingly relaxing.
On our way back, we decided to stop for dinner at a casual burger joint. My husband placed our order while I settled into a quiet booth, checking my phone for updates from our “sitter”—who are actually our friends we persuaded to take care of our kids for the day. As we dug into our meals, a group of young men took the booth next to us. They were tanned and muscular, clearly making a statement with their minimal clothing. They could’ve easily been mistaken for surfers, despite being nowhere near the ocean.
As they lounged around, my husband leaned in and whispered, “Do you think they’re college age?” Trying to appear nonchalant, I glanced up from the menu and nodded in agreement. “Definitely college kids,” I said.
Soon after, a gaggle of girls arrived, clearly friends with the boys. They were dressed in clothes so small they seemed more like costumes than outfits. Their laughter echoed obnoxiously, and my husband and I exchanged glances, rolling our eyes at the scene unfolding before us.
“That’s really annoying,” he muttered. I could only respond with a sigh, “My head is pounding, and it’s too loud in here. We should head home soon.” It was still broad daylight outside.
That’s when it hit me—I am no longer part of that world. My appearance, my demeanor, even the way I conduct myself has shifted. My husband and I had just enjoyed an early dinner, while these young adults were likely just beginning their day. What felt like just yesterday now seemed like a distant planet.
I glanced at my own outfit: a conservative cardigan and sensible shoes. My husband wore a smart polo and khaki shorts—definitely not cargo. We looked older, at least in comparison to the vibrant youth around us.
I hadn’t mentioned yet that we spent our day marveling at a Vatican exhibit at a presidential library—yes, we enjoyed it! And we even reported a grammatical error we spotted, which felt oddly rewarding.
It shouldn’t have taken watching sprightly young people to make me confront my gradual transition into adulthood. But here I am, embracing my yoga pants and nightly glass of pinot grigio, fully accepting my role as a 30-something going on 80. Life has led me to this point, and there’s no reversing it. Aging may mean more gray hairs and a more cantankerous disposition, but I’m perfectly content in my comfortable cardigans, undeterred by youthful trends like see-through tank tops.
At least I still know how to hashtag, so there’s that! #FuddyDuddyForLife
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In summary, as I navigate this transition into a more settled life, I embrace the changes that come with age while still holding onto the memories of my youth.