On Being Young
It was recently my birthday. Hold your applause, it wasn’t a major one. Just another year added to my life, which I guess is pretty major in its own way, but I’m past the point of the usual legal adult milestones for a while. I very much quite enjoyed this birthday, as I usually do for most of my birthdays, but there was one little thing that kept bothering me about my interactions with people about it.
People kept telling me I should pretend to be younger than I am, or otherwise imply that I should hold more shame for gaining another year in my life. I’d share my new age and get sympathy rather than celebration in return and that made me disappointed in their reactions.
Now don’t get me wrong, I get where they’re coming from. There's a stigma in our society regarding aging, especially for women. Beauty products are pushed to keep our skin baby soft. Fertility is placed on a ticking time bomb. Marriage is celebrated as a choice when you’re young and as a settlement when you’re older. Job opportunities are boundless for the inexperienced and fall short for the experienced. For the most part, youth is seen as the ideal and age is seen as an unfortunate side effect of life, something to feel ashamed about as if we have any control of the situation.
However, for me, this just begs the question: what’s even the benefit of youth?
Like I think I enjoyed being young when I was young, for the most part. My childhood was great with a loving family and fond memories of long days playing in our sleepy small town in Kansas. My teenage years were so-so. Middle school provided the usual less than ideal experience that comes with being a socially awkward book nerd. High school was, surprisingly, actually pretty great. Despite my persisting social awkwardness, I thrived as the over-ambitious captain of the varsity softball team with my theater friends. My innate nerdiness and Type A personality meant I could do very little wrong on my own, which allowed me freedom and independence to roam the town with my friends without parental interference. I remember various adventures befitting for YA novels (as long as they fit into our meager fast food minimum-wage earned budgets) and happy times thriving as a Varsity letter jacket wearing AP scholar.
College, however, was miserable. I still had the budget worthy of a high school fast food minimum wage worker, but had actual bills to pay which left only nickels and dimes going towards “fun” things (mostly coffee to earn my keep at whatever local coffee place had free wifi). My freedom was locked into college courses and part-time jobs. Most of my early 20s were also pretty miserable. Jobs and friends flashed in and out of my life at blinding speeds. I didn’t enjoy or thrive in the instability these periods of my life brought with unstable jobs that kept me too broke to do anything, inconsistent friends, and the constant feeling of inadequacy to my peers who seemed to figure life out faster than me. Then the pandemic and lockdown hit literally two days before my 25th birthday and that was pretty much the end of my “youth” if we’re limiting the idea of “youth” to anything before your mid-20’s.
Youth is supposed to be a time of freedom, to make mistakes and learn from them. It’s supposed to be a time of making out with the wrong guy at the club you never should’ve gone to before waking up at 6am for a shift at your terrible part time job and not feeling the least bit guilty about your life choices. But I’m much too anxious of a person to enjoy any of that. The few times I experienced those types of moments usually resulted in a panic attack. So I spent most of my youth dodging those easy mistakes and feeling locked down by my inexperience in life rather than empowered by it.
My life really only started to thrive in my late-20’s and early-30’s when the experience that comes with aging and moving forward in life allowed me to find stability in it. I enjoy stability. I enjoy having a solid foundation to rest my life on while I try something new. Youth and the inexperience that comes with it provides neither of these values. I find that I have more freedom to thrive when I’m not worrying about my next step in life. I love being able to build relationships on the idea that they’re going to stick around for a while rather than up and leave on a whim to chase a new job or a new partner. Those worries still happen when you’re older, but the experience that came from the situations occurring more frequently in youth allows a more stable trust that you’ll be able to survive it.
Maybe it’s just a me problem then, but I really find very little idealization in the concept that “youth” is the superior option to aging. The act of getting older isn’t anything I can control (the sands of time march on regardless after all) so I find no purpose in regretting something I never really enjoyed anyways. The only thing I really miss about my younger days is that my body was more consistent, really almost indestructible, thanks to fifteen years of fastpitch softball keeping it healthy. I miss being able to eat whatever I want without serious repercussions. I also now have a bad knee from a skiing accident that will never be 100% again that younger me never fully appreciated. But I never really valued the vanity of youth and truly roll my eyes at all of the beauty trends being pushed on our generation to keep us looking young. Like starting Botox when you hit 30? Seriously? Grow some laugh lines. Don’t pay a plastic surgeon for the rest of your life just to look like an inflated Barbie.
I guess I also missed the unapologetic confidence that came with the hubris (or naivety) of youth. I really felt entitled to a whole career and recognition on YouTube just because I was a good video editor with copious free time and a camcorder. I travelled better, my naivety never fully realizing the dangers that come with being a single woman travelling on her own. Like during college, I really drove cross-country with another friend during the peak heat of summer, our air conditioning dying halfway in Death Valley, to attend VidCon on our own in a state we never visited before and never once questioned a single moment of it, even though only one of us could legally drive and we had to shove a dresser in front of our cheap motel room door and I was sick for half of the trip (no the friendship didn’t survive the trip, thanks for asking). But I was also a jerk to my loved ones because of that hubris. Immaturity doesn’t typically build great relationships and I faced the consequences of that through most of my 20’s (see previously mentioned VidCon trip).
As I’ve aged, my anxiety has waned in some areas and grew in others as experience teaches me what to fear. But I still would rather age than be young again. I love seeing where the next steps of life are taking me rather than live in a past marked by the pitfalls of inexperience. I love my few gray hairs peeking through. I love living like an old lady with a slow life filled with weird movies and crafts and library books. I love moving forward and letting my experience guide me, knowing I can survive whatever life brings me because I’ve survived 100% of everything I’ve experienced so far.
So keep your Botox and sympathy. I’ll gladly add more candles to my cake than subtract from them. Give me that sweet, sweet experience and stability that comes with aging! Also cake! Give me more cake! Birthdays are for cake! I deserve cake!
Cake :)