I have been waiting for you. You, with your large body, open personality, and rough texture. My wife and I have been talking, and we think we want you at our house.
It was then I took out my wallet and bought the couch.
Getting older is something we cannot stop. You can try, sure, but more than likely your efforts will have you winding up on a Buzzfeed list of surgical horrors for the delusional. When you’re in your 20’s you are thinking you have the world by the balls, but once you reach your 30’s, you realize it’s the other way around.
Sure, you’re still rebellious, but it’s a bit tired. Sure, you’re a sex machine still, but your knees and back are just not holding up as well anymore. Sure, you can still try to pull off that t-shirt… wait, no you can’t, just take that off and burn it as no 20 something will buy clothing worn by a 30 something for fear of catching ‘the old’.
There are just going to be some things that are not your bag anymore, and that’s okay. You can read all the blogs you want about how fucking wrong I am, but I would suggest looking at the writers of said blog and asking if their favorite drink is Natty-ice or jelly-shots? And if those are their favorite, how much does it hurt in the morning? If they say it doesn’t, then they are either lying or are a random genetic variable in the DNA pool. Either way, don’t take that opinion as being realistic for you.
If you are anything like me, more than likely you wake up, go to work, workout (by this I mean you walk or maybe do push-ups), eat dinner, watch something, and sleep. You will not sit there and maximize your time. You will not work hard. You will not take two hours to make dinner, you’re going make a frozen thing or pasta.
And that’s okay.
Just because you’re not doing those things right now, doesn’t mean you aren’t going to soon.
Oh soon, that promising word, that word of the future that lives with the maybe’s, the I think’s, and the to-do’s in the merry magical land of Tomorrow.
Hey, I’m just speaking the truth here. We all have lazy days, weeks, and months. This isn’t an Alpha Wolf, “Get fucking shit done now” post, this is a post about how you will one day get excited about getting a couch.
Now, you’re sitting there thinking, “Fuck people who want couches.”
To which I say, “You too will be like me one day.” You can try to out run this as much as you like. To hide under the veneer of pop-culture references wrapped in a blanket of cynicism with a rebellious haircut. You can try, but there will come a day when it makes sense, and embrace that bullshit because it is comfy.
Getting old is going to happen to you unless you take the short cut to the finish line known as death; and if you do then you’re a fucking dirty cheater! “Oh, I am going to burn up young and die pretty.” Guess what? We’re all butt-fucking ugly when we are all shriveled up crab apples of decomposing meat. Hell, it’s that or being dust.
I am opting for dust, because then I can cling to your monitor and TV and annoy the shit out of you.
Point is this, 30 is nothing. 40 is nothing. Let’s jump past a few numbers that could demonstrate my counting ability and hit 90 and know it is nothing. None of these numbers mean much, it’s all about what’s upstairs and being able to adapt to where life takes you. Learn new stuff. See things from another persons point of view. Go somewhere you’ve never been and eat that local food.
And when everything is said and done, you sit your ass down on that comfy couch you have at home and watch a movie. Don’t make every moment count because you are not going to remember everything you do. Take the moments that matter and make them stick, but for everything else, let it slip into the infinite folds of time and fall between the cracks of the space time couch.
You’ll never believe what you can find in there.
Photo credit: Huffington Post, West Elm, and me