Last Friday, in the elevator on the way to a class I teach, I asked one of the graduate interns working in our department if she would mind sharing a little bit about her experience as a Psychology major. I indicated that I wanted her to do this, since her undergrad experience was much more recent than mine. She expressed some shock about this, and when I explained that I was in college in the 90s and was turning 38 this year, she explained that she really thought I was about her age.
While I don’t know her exact age, I’m going to guess that it’s at least 10 years less than mine (and probably a little more). This, of course, made my day — because, hello … 27! But it also made me think about the fact that I wouldn’t actually want to be any younger. I’m content in my late 30’s. Here are just a few reasons why:
- I was just starting out in my writing career 10 years ago. Now I can articulate exactly what my writing style is. This became so clear to me when I wrote an article for Women Writers Womens’ Books, recently.
- There’s more craft beer in my city than there was 10 years ago.
- I’ve learned the importance of surrounding myself with positive, rising-tide-lifts-all-boats types of people. I’m not scared to walk away from negativity – and I don’t owe anyone an explanation for this.
- I eat food, mostly plants, not too much (thanks, Michael Pollan) and drink green juice most days (thanks, Kris Carr). Which is to say I feel way healthier than I did back then.
- I’m clear about the fact that I’m just running my own race in this life. What’s right for you might not be best for me, and vice versa. Doesn’t mean we can’t cheer for each other.
- I mentioned the beer, right?
So while I’ll take that 10 years younger compliment, I’m pretty darn happy right where I am, thanks.