Today, I am 32. Whoop de doo.
It’s kind of cool, actually. I’m not as subconsciously depressed about it as I was at 30 and 31, even though it’s true that the splintered door of death is ever closer. I guess being on movie sets and playing college students sort of eases the sting.
I never thought I’d be where I am right now, which is (nearly) the same place I was at this time last year. This coiled, steaming dungheap of retroactively useless and possibly harmful advice insists that you have to get all your stuff together in your 20s so that you aren’t homeless and/or dried up for the rest of your life. By the end of my 20s, I had a steady corporate job, my own apartment, a new car and little to no debt. Granted, I didn’t pump out a unit for its own sake, so I failed as the perfect American adult drone. That’s probably why now I’m a part-time movie extra playing characters who still have a few years to not fail in life. Must be my eyes.
I’ve learned that advice is mostly grains of salt, because life is always changing. And sometimes, even as it’s scary, change isn’t all that bad. As someone who always found the idea of settling in too early pretty frightening, I welcome that. I don’t always do the right or the most prudent thing. But when I do, I drink Dos Equis. Actually, I don’t drink much. And that would be a lame commercial.
But if anyone wants to shoot it, I’m available. I’ve got stories.
Stay thirsty. For life.
Now get off my lawn.