Hello!
Hi! God, I was going to write a nice intro to this week’s essay but I slept quite remarkably badly last night and as a result can barely form a thought. What I will do instead is tell you to read this very fun and heartwarming first person piece on the group of men who spent over 20 years playing the same game of tag. If you like it, I would also point you in the direction of Tag, the movie that was later made about those men.
I technically had some other links I wanted to send you in the direction of but unfortunately my laptop died yesterday, and so did its bookmarks, and I mean please don’t expect me to remember what was in my bookmarks. That would be unreasonable.
On the bright side, I actually wrote the essay below a few days ago so it actually is coherent, which I’ll grant you is maybe the least you could expect, but we are where we are. It is for paying subscribers only but, if you’re new and fancy something free to read, you can have this old but relevant essay I wrote a few months ago on life-long insomnia.
And…I think that’s it. Only 12 hours until I can try to sleep again. Yay!
A column
Look, I’ve got no problem with ageing. I’m very relaxed about it. I just wouldn’t want to be 23 ever again, even though I had a lot of fun when I was 23. That time has passed, and that’s fine. It’s how it goes.
There is one thing I struggle with a bit, though, and it’s the way I look at people ten, fifteen years younger than me. For a long time I assumed I’d be like some cool aunt, reassuring other frightened adults and saying that sure, those 17-year-olds look a bit young to get smashed, but we did the same thing when we were their age, right? Can’t exactly hold it against them now.
I pictured myself being the bad but reassuring influence, making a teen smoke a joint with me in secret because I could tell they wanted to start smoking weed anyway, so at least they could give it a shot around an adult they knew they could trust. I liked that version of myself; I was looking forward to becoming her.
I’m just not sure she’s going to exist anymore, is the problem. I think that instead, I’m becoming someone who berates the youths and finds them incomprehensible, and longs to judge their every action. In my defence, I don’t believe I’ve changed; I just couldn’t have predicted what was to come.
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