I Feel Old

Here I am. I'm 20 years old. Probably only a fifth of the way through my life. That seems impossible though, because I've lived through several eternities. I have the scars to prove it. I sit at a point in time that feels like the top of a roller coaster, I've been building toward something and now it's nearly time for the payoff. Where does this go? Are there any twists? I don't know. I am left with this sense of impending change, of impermanence. But this impermanence feels impermanent, what happens next feels like it will be forever, a career, a new home, new friends, new lovers, new life, new time.

All around me I experience the past, like callbacks on a sitcom they feel almost natural. Two weeks ago I saw a girl in the campus Starbucks, she had long, dark hair that hung over two shining blue eyes that almost made me miss the wicked smile that hung below. I smiled back. As I took a step toward her it felt like falling into bed at the end of a long day; then it hit me. She was on a tour. Of the school. She was in high school, probably my little brother's and sister's age. I took an awkward pivot step diagonally away from her as her smile collapsed in on itself.

There I was, confused and concerned. I was too old for her. Before this campus was an endless expanse of my elders, now I am a landmark in someone else's expanse.

Back at home for spring break I had another reminder of the time gone bye. The first Saturday of every March in my hometown is the St. Patricks day parade. Revelers from 15-50 and up make public intoxication a proud practice. I remember being fifteen and being chased by a beet red police officer, steam rising of his head like a hot dog cart in the city, laughing to myself at the unbridled anarchy. This year was different. Kids I used to coach in swimming and baseball, younger even than my 16 year old sister, were stumbling through the sticky side streets I used to prowl. The anarchy no longer seduces me. Instead I sit at my table with my wizened friends worried about what my younger siblings are doing. I text them to make sure they know that if they need me I will come pick them up. Not two years ago I would have been half in the bag, worried about where me and my friends were going and which girl from my high school might be interested.

Here I am. Writing this and wondering what will strike me as ridiculous at the bottom of this drop. The only thing I know for certain is that it will be different always and that I will just get older.