I’ve spent much of my life fearing the passage of time. I wasn’t obsessed with the topic, but I didn’t want to get older, that was for sure. What a waste of energy that fear was.
First of all, aging is inevitable. All the plastic surgery and vitamins and exercise in the world isn’t going to stop it. We all have an expiration date. (And thank goodness for that! The planet is crowded enough.)
But here’s what kind of took me by surprise: I like myself a lot more than I did at 19. Granted, I wouldn’t mind having my 19-year-old body back, but if I had to be the person I was at 19 to achieve that goal, I’d turn down the offer.
At 19 I was on a hormonal roller coaster. I was desperate to be liked, and really concerned about what other people thought. I didn’t know where my life was going, and spent a lot of time comparing my insides to other people’s outsides. I wasted a lot of energy dwelling on how unfair life was, and trying really hard to get… where, exactly? What, exactly? I had no idea. All I knew was that things were supposed to be much, much better than they were. I don’t know where the ruler came from that I was using to measure my life, but I knew I was falling short, and therefore I was pretty miserable for the most part.
And then a funny thing happened. As I got older, I made a lot more mistakes. I learned a lot more lessons. I had a lot more experiences, and accumulated a lot more memories. And I came to realize that not only am I the sum total of all that stuff, but also I still have so much to look forward to! I now know that I’ll never be able to predict the path my life will take, but now that excites me.