The other day I was in my local coffee shop where the staff and I knew each other well enough to make small talk. The barista, looking a little worse for wear, shared his adventures from the night before and the aftereffects of three glasses of pinot noir – a pounding headache, nausea, and severe dehydration. And his grand old age? Thirty-three.
There and then, it hit me: one day you’re bouncing back after a few beveraginos like it’s nothing, the next, you’re stocking up on Diet Coke and ibuprofen, wondering what the hell happened to your body. It struck me: is 33 now old? Surely not. But if so, how the hell did we get here? And at 27, am I still young, or just in denial?
Ageing is a touchy subject, especially if you’re a woman. It’s one of those topics I don’t like to broach with strangers, along with conspiracy theories, Donald Trump, and the weather. Society has long treated a woman’s age as classified information, as if the mere passage of time is something to be ashamed of. In reality, the question is only as awkward as the intent behind it – sometimes harmless, sometimes needlessly intrusive.
But lately, it’s started to feel like every conversation comes with a side of fearmongering about premature ageing. Botox is now not just for your face, but your hair. Fertility ads stalk me on Instagram. And maybe I do act older than my age. After putting my career first the last few years, I’ve made every excuse to avoid having a social life. On paper, I’m a fully fledged adult – I have a job, I prioritise sleep, and my idea of a wild night is a second cup of tea.
square SIMON KELNER
Lent is the best thing for an overindulged, self-obsessed generation
Read MoreMy friends are the same. If age were based on how we feel rather than birth certificates, half of them wouldn’t be anywhere near their late twenties. Lately, every conversation feels like a strategy meeting – savings, marriage, mortgages, the relentless pursuit of “what’s next”. It’s the kind of talk you’d expect from thirty-somethings, yet here we are in our late twenties, fixated on upskilling life itself. Studies say most people feel eight years younger than they are – so why is my life suddenly full of wannabe oldies?
It’s time to push back against all this talk of ageing and reset my monotonous life. I’ve booked a radical haircut, the kind you get after a messy breakup. I’ll stay up until 11pm, just for the thrill of it, and I’m going back to real coffee – no more of this light fluffy decaf nonsense. Small acts of rebellion, in the scheme of things, but enough to get the blood pumping.
I still haven’t figured out what qualifies as “old,” but my parents seem to be getting it right. Both turned 60 last year and haven’t slowed down – my dad’s working through his bucket list of capital cities, while my mum has become even more health-conscious.
If they’ve taught me anything, it’s that balance matters. Life isn’t just about chasing the next big thing; it’s about making time for the things you actually enjoy. Pass that pinot noir.
Read More Details
Finally We wish PressBee provided you with enough information of ( I’m only 27 but one conversation made me question my mortality )
Also on site :
- Harris Dickinson On The Inspiration For Cannes Directing Debut ‘Urchin’ And Why Upcoming John Lennon Role Is His “Every Day Right Now”
- Pursuit of stolen car ends with suspect crashing in North Highlands
- Podcaster Calls for 'Trigger Warning' After Cassie's Violent Testimony