Reflections on Age and Life Choices
Recently, while enjoying my usual visit to a cozy local coffee shop, I found myself engaging in lighthearted conversation with the barista. He looked a bit worn out and shared tales of his escapades from the previous night, detailing the consequences of indulging in three glasses of pinot noir. He described a relentless headache, bouts of nausea, and a profound sense of dehydration. What struck me was his age: thirty-three. It suddenly dawned on me—when did thirty-three become the new ‘old’? I couldn’t help but wonder how we arrived at this perception. At my own age of twenty-seven, am I still considered young, or am I simply in denial about the passage of time?
Ageing is a sensitive matter, particularly for women. It’s one of those subjects I often shy away from discussing with strangers, along with conspiracy theories, politics, and even the weather. Society has long regarded a woman’s age as something akin to classified information, as though the simple act of getting older is something to be embarrassed about. In truth, the awkwardness surrounding the question of age often lies in the intent behind it—sometimes innocent, other times unnecessarily intrusive.
However, I’ve noticed that lately, every conversation seems tinged with an undercurrent of anxiety about premature ageing. Botox has evolved beyond just a cosmetic treatment for the face; now, it’s even making its way into hair care. I can’t scroll through Instagram without encountering fertility ads that feel like they’re stalking me. Perhaps I do come across as more mature than my years suggest. After prioritizing my career over social engagements in recent years, I’ve found myself making excuses to avoid a vibrant social life. On paper, I am a bona fide adult—I have a steady job, I prioritize sleep, and my idea of a wild evening now revolves around having a second cup of tea.
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My friends mirror this sentiment. If we were to gauge age based on how we feel rather than our birth certificates, many of them wouldn’t even come close to their late twenties. These days, conversations feel more like strategic planning sessions—talking about savings, marriage, mortgages, and the relentless quest for “what’s next.” This is the kind of dialogue you’d expect from those in their thirties, yet here we are, in our late twenties, obsessed with the idea of upskilling our lives. Research indicates most individuals feel around eight years younger than their actual age—so why does my life seem filled with aspiring old souls?
It’s high time I push back against all this incessant chatter about ageing and shake things up in my monotonous routine. I’ve decided to take a bold step by booking a radical haircut, reminiscent of the kind you might get post-breakup. I’ll indulge in staying up until 11 PM, purely for the thrill of it, and I’m reclaiming my love for real coffee—no more of this airy decaf nonsense. These may seem like small acts of defiance, but they’re just enough to reignite my spirit.
While I still grapple with defining what “old” truly means, my parents seem to have cracked the code. Both turned 60 last year and show no signs of slowing down—my dad is diligently working through his bucket list of capital cities, while my mum has become even more focused on her health. If they’ve imparted any wisdom to me, it’s that balance is essential. Life shouldn’t solely revolve around the pursuit of the next big milestone; it’s equally important to carve out time for the things that genuinely bring you joy. So, pass me that pinot noir!
