Trips, Aging, and Intensity

My college is putting together a trip to Paris and Venice for 8 days, with a very reasonable stay-behind fee for an extra couple days. I really want to go, but it won’t be until next year, and I have no idea what could be happening next year or where I could be.

But I really want to go.

Man, who does that? Asks people to pay money to go on a trip a whole year away. Like for realsies…

I really, really want to go.

Well anyway, in other news I have been rewatching all the Friends seasons for a second time now since they have been put on Netflix. I always get a little unsettled by the episode about everyone’s 30th birthdays. Every time I’ve seen it since the first time I get all kinds of nauseous, concerned, anxious, and a little vomicky. I mean, 30 is only about 8 years away for me. After speeding through the last 8 years I remember, I’ll be honest I’m a little freaked out when I think about it in-depth.

I remember when I was 9 or 10 when I first saw it and I flipped out by my next birthday that I was getting old, the years were flying by, and that I would die soon. I was only 9 years old, about to have my tenth birthday when I first flipped out over how quickly the years were going by. I was greatly distressed by how quickly I remembered my toddler years zipping by. I was about to go take a bath when I started bawling because my back hurt, I was tired, and I was so concerned about not enjoying my childhood enough; so ridiculously afraid I would end up like all those adults with deadened hearts because they behaved as tiny grown-ups as children.

By that age I had also been reading a lot of basic psychology analysis facts.

When I saw Breakfast Club for the first time, I fixated on that girl’s line, “when you grow up, your heart dies.” She said it with tears in her eyes and such terrified conviction that it seemed even the actress was afraid it was true. It killed me. Many days I wondered if that was what was happening to me. Even as a freshman in college I wondered if my heart was dying. It hurt.

I was an intense child.

Now I know that’s not the case for me. But I am a little concerned about aging still. It’s not so much because I’m concerned about myself, but because I’m concerned about the man I’m in love with. My fiance can’t even stand to talk about aging or getting older. It terrifies him to the core; it’s his biggest fear. Thus, I’m worried about how he will actually handle getting older. I guess he’s already contemplating his midlife crises. Funny, I experienced that somewhere between senior year of highschool and junior year of college.

I suppose that’s what happens to people who started working at a young age and experienced the real world throughout childhood. My fiance and I can hardly get along with people our age because in truth they are too young for us… And in all the wrong ways they are too old for our childish parts.

We’re too little and too old at the same time, but we have a marvelous, stupendous, small group of friends who understand what that means too. It all works out.

We should all be 60-year-old toddlers.


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