I used to lie about my age all the time when I was just a wee lass. I got away with it, too, since I was one of those kids that looks a lot older than they are. I think it’s because I was tall. Well, I’m still tall, but back then, I was tall for my age, whereas now, I’m just tall. Anyway, when I was just a teenager, I had a fake ID that said I was 22 years old. I went to my first bar and got shithammered when I was a mere babe of only fifteen. Ah, the good old days of terrible life choices.
Once I outgrew all of the societal age restrictions, I no longer felt the need to lie about my age. I’ve had a pretty chaotic life and there’s absolutely no reason why I should still be alive today other than dumb luck and sheer force of will. I honestly never thought I would live to see the age of thirty. That’s not much of an exaggeration either. Based on the life I was living, that was a pretty realistic estimate of my life expectancy. In fact, had I stayed on the path I was on, it would have been an overestimation.
Now, while I don’t flaunt my age, I don’t lie about it or hide it either. I have surpassed my life expectancy by nigh on a decade and every day I live is a bonus. Every single day that I wake up in the morning is a gift. It’s a testament to my stubbornness and refusal to die. It is proof that humans can accomplish anything if they set their minds to it, even if all they manage to do with a twenty-four hour period is just survive for one more day.
I wear my age as a badge of honor. I wear it with pride in my own unwillingness to give up. I’m looking forward to getting gray hair. I’m looking forward to being an elder. I sincerely hope that I have many, many more decades in which I can learn more about life, the universe and everything. I know now that I’ll never have all of the answers, but as long as I keep trying to find them, things will work out just fine.