At my birthday dinner last night, I was reminded by my (older) friend that at 29, I should realize how I’m “getting up there.” Although I know he was just trying to get a rise out of me, I couldn’t help but become fixated on aging. Time does fly.
I still get carded, wear boy's Converses, am petrified of spiders, and the concept of diapers grosses me out; I don’t consider myself old. At the same time, I realize my arbitrary immature aspects do not save me from the inevitable aging process. Yes, I’m an adult.