I turned 31 today. I don’t know where time has gone. I believe seniors now when they say time moves faster as you get older.
Really, this isn’t possible. Time is time. But for some reason, the older you get, the faster things go.
There was a time (pardon the pun) when I thought 30 was old. Like married old. Like 2.5 kids and a dog and a cat old.
Like minivan old.
Yet here I am, 31, still driving a coupe. I’m sure I could fit a baby seat in there if I had to, but definitely not 2.5 kids and a dog and a cat.
Now that I’ve blown my misconceptions of my 20s out of the water, I wonder what my 30s will hold. In 9 years, when I turn 40, will I look back and think WTF? (That F stands for frigby the way, just in case you were wondering.)
Quite frankly, I always thought 40 was ancient. Sorry to you middle-aged folk, but it’s true. Back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, 40 was practically retirement age, never mind that financially, most people won’t be able to retire until they’re 70.
It seemed like just yesterday I was crying out for my parents because the power was off and I couldn’t escape my room. Or needed reassurance because I had the tummy flu. When the flu was gone, I was trying my best to eat meat and potatoes even though I detest potatoes and don’t eat a lot of meat.
Then I was chucking my Nintendo controllers on the floor because Mario wasn’t so super and fell into a flaming pit of lava. New Kids on the Block was playing in the background and there was a poster of the boys on the wall.
It was a time when I loved getting free make up and hand-me-down clothes, the best ones, of course, never going onto the soccer field to get full of grass stains.
Everything starts to blur. Junior high, the teasing, the perms, the mooning over boys and wishing they’d ask you to dance while Boyz II Men or Jon Bon Jovi played.
Just yesterday I got my license, I swear. Actually, I did. But it was for the fifth or sixth time. Hair’s still big even though the perm is long gone.
Essays and projects piled on top of each other and they all had to be done well so I could get good marks and maybe even scholarships. I was pouring over university applications, wondering what I should become.
Terrified to go across the country for the first time, I climbed on a plane to do French immersion in BC. Me. Alone. On a plane. I don’t know how I avoided all the rapists and serial killers.
Then it was college and university, textbook lines and even longer student loan lines. Buying a few groceries and a lot of take out. Nervously watching my precious laundry in the laudromat while people who looked questionable passed through. I don’t know how I avoided all the hobos.
Honestly, where has time gone?
Where has my money gone?
Where did I get that scar?
And who’s phone number is that?
Did I really go out with that guy? And why the heck didn’t I go out with this guy?
Life is short. But at least if you write about it, you have a running record of things so you don’t forget. It all goes so fast that I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to keep track as I get older.
Now which one of you stole my denture cleaner?