Who Asked? // What’s so bad about getting older?

I keep waiting for the “my-teens-are-ending” dread to hit. The dread that my friends promised would come, the horror at watching the first number of my age turn from a 1 to a 2. I turn 20 on Feb. 7, which should be the day this blog comes out. And as someone who’s absolutely terrified of dying, you’d think another year down in my march towards inevitable mortality would be frightening. But while it’s a little weird to be entering my 20s, I don’t feel the crushing emotion I’ve braced myself to expect. 

I was the kid who cried so much when my parents tried donating my Barbie house that it still sits in my room to this day and the kid who sorrowfully listened to Muse on repeat when my childhood swingset was disassembled and donated to make space for my mom’s garden. When I was probably younger than 10, I thrashed around on my bed fighting invisible demons and imagined my stuffed animals anxiously watching me defy the abstract concept of growing up. I felt as though I would become an adult in one fell swoop and not love them anymore. Honestly, that’s more proof that my parents shouldn’t have let me watch Toy Story. But my point still stands. Growing up was — and is — scary. 

Knowing all this about myself, I keep waiting for the dread of the big 2 – 0 to kick in. It certainly did for everyone else I know. One of my roommates who turned 20 in October continues to say it’s “the oldest anyone’s ever been,” and any time I asked my boyfriend if he was looking forward to his 20th, he’d try to explain the vague dread associated with this milestone. To him, it felt like inescapable proof that real-world responsibilities were starting to set in. Which makes sense — I mean, I used “but I’m only 19” as an excuse for way too many choices this year. “I’m only 20” doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. But I’ve yet to be floored by existential dread. Instead, I’m more stressed that The Melting Pot might not just let me have three courses of cheese fondue.  

So why is getting older so scary to so many people? Does life really just go downhill after your teens? Should I be more afraid? And why am I — the girl who fears and mourns everything — not more affected by my impending 20s? Am I maturing? Or, more likely, repressing?

One of the biggest reasons people are scared of aging in a beauty and consumerism-driven culture is the pressure to keep up appearances. Women are scared their skin will wrinkle, men are scared their hair will fall out. Everyone’s scared their bodies will sag. There are hashtags with millions of videos dedicated to anti-aging secrets, entire businesses and companies that promise they’ll turn back the clock. 

Even beyond just appearances, it’s scary to think we won’t be able to move and behave in the same ways. We’ve all heard the older generations lament constant back aches and excessive tiredness. They warn that just crouching to get something could send you to the hospital. No one wants to get weaker and more tired. Hell, even now I spend most days marveling at how sleepy I am and how much my knees pop when I stand up. What does that say about my future? 

For young people, there’s another aspect of aging that’s undesirable — increased responsibility. Looming over us is the need to get real jobs and pay our own taxes, rent and groceries. Figure out what the hell to do when we get kicked off our parents’ healthcare. Student debt, credit cards, finding someone to settle down with. Figuring out if you want kids. Having to solve real world problems all by yourself because your parents can’t pick up the phone to help you 20 times a day. The older we get, the more is thrust upon us. In this sense, being in your 20s sounds a hell of a lot scarier than being a teenager. 

But perhaps what’s most scary about aging is just the deep, intrinsic knowledge that we can’t go back. Things are changing all the time and we’re powerless to stop it. That birthday will come, and then another, and another, and another and it all feels like it’s just getting faster all the time. You can never be 8 again, or 12 or 17. And I’m sure in the blink of an eye I’ll be 29 and wondering where all the time went. This is what’s scary — knowing you can’t go back. 

But I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. Sure, we can’t go back. Sure we’ll wrinkle and weaken and have to worry about 401ks and insurance. But what about all the awesome things? What about being able to drink, to rent a car, to check out a hotel room? Having the independence to live on your own and support yourself? Growing in maturity and capability? I’m damn glad I’m not the same person I was at 15. I relish the ways I’ve grown and the experiences I’ve had. 

We don’t know what’s coming up next, and the world can seem really scary. It’s easy to assume that our 20s will be full of doom and pinching pennies and worrying our hair gray. But we can’t know for certain that things are going downhill. What we can do is try to remain positive, remain excited, remain driven. Don’t let all these companies sell you a narrative that demands your money in exchange for protecting you from societally invented problems. 

We can keep our childlike whimsy and excitement while we move on to the next phase of our lives, pairing it with our newfound wisdom and maturity. And you don’t even need to be completely ecstatic to get older. Just remember that dreading it does nothing other than make you a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you’re expecting everything to suck and be awful and stressful, you’ll be looking for proof of that everywhere. 

I hope that as I move into this new phase of my life, I can challenge the thoughts that want to torture me and make me miserable, remembering instead to be grateful. Really, the only age-related grief on my mind should be Moe’s discontinuing their free birthday burritos.