I Don’t Want to Get Old

“Black and white photograph of two older males, sitting on a bench and standing with a cane.” by Wiebrig Krakau on Unsplash

My entire life, I have dreaded growing old. Watching my parents, it’s not hard to understand why.

Becoming old means going to work at a job you hate, just to bring home not enough money. Becoming old means having to compromise happiness in the name of survival. Becoming old means having to sacrifice spontaneity in the name of routine, joy in the name of misery.

Becoming old means that you pawn your guitar or your camera or your whatever in order to survive until the next payday. Over and over again. Becoming old means not having enough. Becoming old means sacrificing your art in the name of practicality because there are only 24 hours in a day and we can’t all be Van Halen.

Or J.K. Rowling. Or Frida Kahlo. Or whoever.

Becoming old means that you stop swearing, because it isn’t polite, and isn’t a socially acceptable thing to do. Becoming old means policing other people, especially younger people, because they said something or did something they’re not supposed to do. Because. . . because. . . Because I said so. Or because that’s not how adults behave. Because I am telling you that your exuberance is wrong.

Becoming old means that you stop having fun. Becoming old means that you don’t go out to concerts. You don’t go to the discotheque. You don’t go to the bar. Once-colorful and exotic drinks are…