|Posted on February 2, 2010 at 1:15 PM|
There comes a point in every single twenty or thirty-something’s life when we take a step back and ask ourselves whether we have aged out of certain activity, style or even profession. If we hit 30, is it too late to rethink our job and relocate? At 25, is it time to stop clubbing and transition to a sensible martini bar? And, at 35, if we still have not successfully had a significant relationship; is it time to seek professional help? With all of this in mind, I began to wonder, is age really just a number or a societal reminder to hurry up and move on to next phase in our lives.
Very recently my good friend Mark’s free spirited, persuasive persona had me out and about on random Thursday night. Feeling I was passed the club scene, I began to knock the “thump…thump” setting in hopes to transition to a more appropriate social hot spot. Determined to try something new Mark, peer pressured his way through a very expensive night of overpriced drinks and crowds of sweaty ravers and overly sassy drag queens. I immediately felt out of place, until out of nowhere, I found myself grinding on the dance floor with a corona and cute and toned club-goer.
That same night, several blocks away, Annie found herself in a similar situation. She and Salina had been dating for over a year and although they continued to grow closer, Annie began to feel the pressures of age difference tear her apart. Being almost ten years her elder, Annie found herself in a very awkward situation when Salina’s big birthday night approached. Annie planned everything out, but felt more like of a chaperone than a member of the crew. Everything hit the fan, when uncomfortable notions caused her to over drink and overreact to a comment that was made, by a friend, about Salina’s good looks. After a very noticeable outburst that silenced the bar, Annie was the center of attention, in an embarrassing situation that involved an underage lesbian telling her to grow up. It was right then and there that Annie realized she needed to stop allowing her issues with age get in the way of her acting like a mature adult.
Later that night, I also put my late twenty something year old foot in my overly paranoid mouth. After spending most of the night with my toned interest, I began to anticipate the uncomfortable question approaching of how old I was. So, just like that I awkwardly blurted it out. I immediately followed with a statement of how embarrassed I was for being 28 in a club that catered to those that 21. He then informed me that he was 33. He took off to get a drink and unsurprisingly never returned. On the way back to Mark’s apartment that night I suddenly realized that we are our own worst enemy when it comes to age. Ironically enough, when we obsess over age appropriateness, we somehow end up appearing immature and insecure.