Embrace your geriatric nature

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By Stephen Phillips

Am I old for my age?

My idea of going out is driving to someone else’s living room. My bedtime would be before midnight if it weren’t for the two episodes of “Frasier” at 11 p.m.

My evening events do not start at 10 p.m., they end at 10 p.m. I have a pill reminder box for the various vitamins I take daily.

Kids have no respect these days, and I eat oatmeal every morning.

I smoke tobacco from a pipe, and I’m picky about my Scotch. I prefer the company of my cats over being around certain people. I forget important dates and assignments, and technology is starting to confuse me. I believe that the comedy film is a dying genre. My coffee doesn’t need sugar.

Some lame test on OkCupid.com said I was 32 years old at heart, though I sometimes feel older.

I’ve been this way since high school (sans the pipe). It used to bother me; I wanted to binge drink for days at a time; I wanted to end my nights at 4 a.m. and do it all over again the next day. I really, really wanted to enjoy school dances and football game after-parties. I desired to be this person because I felt that being a loner was abnormal.

But now I embrace it, and I guess that’s why being a writer suits me.

I know a lot of people who share my views but still try to keep up the appearance of a “stereotypical college kid.” On a Friday night, you might find them out with a few friends at loud bar, trying to stomach a Jack and Coke when all they really want is to enjoy an 18-year-old Caol Ila in a quiet lounge.

They live a lie on the weekends because they feel the pressure to “live it up.” Because these are the best years of your life, right?

Not mine.

Anyone who feels old should embrace it and stop trying to fit in. It’s not about feeling old just because you aren’t into the bar scene, it’s about doing what you really want to do each day. If you’d rather read a book at home while the crowd roars in Tiger Stadium, you’re doing a disservice to yourself by purchasing season tickets.

Be patient for your own “best years.”

I am still looking forward to the best years of my life – sitting at home and playing Scrabble with my wife and our kid; worrying about mundane household problems; cooking dinner and having time to clean the dishes; remembering to pay the bills on time because I wasn’t caught up in finishing two research papers and preparing for an exam; being able to pay those bills because I didn’t have to skip work to cram for finals.

This, to me, sounds better than anything I’ve ever experienced in college.

But not everyone can relate. I write this for my readers who work practically full-time and go to school full-time – for my readers who live a realistic apartment life and pay the bills out of their own pocket. People like us await the day we can slow down.

This is why I can’t stay in a bar until 2 a.m., and why I like to watch movies in my own living room; it’s exactly why I can’t drink cheap booze on a crowded dance floor.

I am so ready for the next chapter in my life that I skim the one I’m on now.

E-mail the author at Stephen@tigerweekly.com

Originally Published: Issue 583 - October 17, 2007

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