My early twenties feel like just yesterday. Although the days of wild nights, impulsive piercings, and questionable choices seem like a different lifetime, I still remember them vividly. Perhaps it’s because my petite frame often leads others to think I’m still in my teens, or maybe it’s because my kids have given me just enough sleep to keep up appearances—though that’s definitely not the case. Regardless, I’ve always thought of my partner, Jake, and myself as pretty hip. Sure, we have more responsibilities now, but that doesn’t mean we’ve become boring, right?
Well, I was mistaken.
Last week, we seized a rare opportunity for a day out sans the kids. Blissfully free, we embarked on a six-hour round trip, turning off the endless loop of children’s music in favor of our own playlists. We indulged in snacks without sharing, and I even managed to sneak in a nap. Turns out, road trips without children are incredibly refreshing.
On our way home, we stopped at a burger joint for dinner. While Jake ordered, I settled into a cozy booth and checked my phone for messages from our “sitter,” who was really just our friends tricked into babysitting for a day. Just as we began to enjoy our meal, a group of young guys slid into the booth next to us. They were tanned, fit, and sported tank tops that left little to the imagination. They could have easily passed for surfers, but we were nowhere near the ocean.
As they lounged, running their fingers through their sun-bleached hair, Jake leaned over and asked, “Do you think they’re in college?” I pretended to examine the menu above them to get a better look. “Definitely,” I replied, “college kids for sure.”
Moments later, a group of giggling girls joined them, sporting tiny shorts and tops that made me realize I’d missed the memo about dressing youthful. They were loud, laughing at jokes that likely weren’t even funny. Jake and I exchanged eye-rolls. “That’s annoying,” he muttered, and I complained about the noise, saying, “My head is pounding. It’s late; we should head home.” It was still daylight outside.
Suddenly, the truth hit me like a ton of bricks. My life looks nothing like that anymore, and I certainly don’t resemble that carefree version of youth. Moments ago, we had relished our early dinner, while they were probably just starting their day and wouldn’t think about sleep until we were waking up. What once felt like my recent past seemed light-years away from my present reality.
I glanced at my own conservative outfit: a cardigan and sensible shoes. Jake looked equally “mature” in a smart polo and khaki shorts (thankfully not cargo shorts). We looked old in comparison.
Of course, we had good reasons for our attire. We had just visited a Vatican exhibit at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library—yes, our day alone was spent marveling over papal artifacts. And you know what? We enjoyed it! In fact, we even spotted a grammatical error in the exhibit and felt quite accomplished reporting it.
So here I am, resigned to my role as a “grown-up,” even if it took a bunch of lively youngsters to remind me. I’ll gladly embrace my comfy yoga pants and nightly glass of wine like the thirty-something who is definitely not trying to relive my youth. Aging is inevitable, and while I may be heading towards a life of cardigans and Tom Collins cocktails, I’m okay with it. At least I can still navigate the world of hashtags, so I’m not entirely out of touch, right? #ForeverFuddyDuddy
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Summary:
This piece reflects on the author’s realization of growing older while contrasting youthful memories with current responsibilities and lifestyle changes. A day out without kids leads to a humorous encounter with a group of young adults, prompting introspection about aging and acceptance of one’s current life stage.