No Longer Forever 25

On my 25th birthday, I remember telling all my friends that this was my last birthday. Not in a morbid or foreboding way, but more in the vein of denial. I resolved that every birthday thereafter would also be my 25th birthday. I would not be admitting to ever being any older than 25. When I turned 26, sure enough, I cracked jokes about it being my second 25th birthday. Because who would want to be 26? That's, like, so old you guys. Well, 27 came hard and fast and the joke was starting to get old. After all, most of my friends are about the same age as me, and some are older, so the joke didn't just stop being funny, it also started to be kind of offensive. As I approach 28, and before I know it, 30, I realize just how very stupid the joke was, and I know I'll never make it again.

Here's the thing - I LOVE being in my late twenties. I think I'm going to love being in my thirties too. Life gets better as you get older. You get more confident, you make less excuses for yourself, and people take you more seriously. Also, you care less about how seriously people take you, or anything they think of you for that matter. I think that's the best part. Sure, I have moments when I find out how much older I am than someone I admire was when they accomplished something great, I discover that most of my cast-mates in whatever show I'm involved in at that particular moment in time were born in the 90's, or I remember that by the time my mother was my age, she had three children, and I cringe a little. That's natural. But guess what? I'm on my own journey. I don't have to do things in any particular order just because somebody else did.

Another thing about getting older is that I'm a woman, and I'm not supposed to. Us ladies are constantly bombarded with not-so-subliminal messages about the importance of staying youthful and fresh. Men, on the other hand, are revered as they get older. They are perceived as seasoned, mature, experienced, and alluring. For women, there is a very disheartening paradox in which we seem to be valued more as we age for our ability to appear younger than we actually are. How many times have you seen a picture of a female celebrity captioned with something like "40 is the new 25" or a magazine with cover stories like "So and so shares her secrets to staying young". We should really stop saying "she looks great for her age" and just say "she looks great". End of story.

Something else happened around the time I turned 25. I started noticing the little lines around my eyes when I smiled in pictures. Ever year, they get a little deeper and a little longer, and I know that trend will continue. When I first noticed them, I was horrified. I was too young for wrinkles! For god's sake, I still get zits sometimes. But when I think about why they are there, I'm not horrified, I'm thankful. They are there because of all the times I stayed up way too late with my little sister and laughed until I could barely breathe while she made incredibly strange prank calls to random phone numbers in our area code. They are there because of that time during freshman year of college when Adam told us the story about his friend's cat peeing on him in the middle of the night in that hilarious deadpan manner that only he can tell a story, and I knew as the tears of laughter streamed down my face that I wanted him to make me laugh like that forever. They are there because of the times over the past year when I have thrown my head back and laughed uncontrollably with recently-met cast-mates as if we were old friends. They are nothing to be ashamed of, they are the mark of a life of what in retrospection looks like an almost unfair amount of happiness. I'm not saying that I don't care what I look like. I believe in looking and feeling my best, I use an anti-aging eye cream at night, I'll admit it. What I'm saying is that I'm not going to panic. I look like I am supposed to at 27. As I get older, I will look older, and I accept that.

I know that some people might read this and think "Okay, 27-year-old, talk to me when you're approaching 40", and that's a valid point. I know that I am still pretty young by most standards, and that awareness reminds me daily to take advantage of all the things about being young that are so wonderful, but I am truly not afraid to get older. I look to my beautiful mother and her beautiful sisters, who laugh when they are together with a special kind of recklessness, I look to my grandmothers who are both so sweet and happy and full of love, I look to the maturity and serenity of the older women I have come across throughout my life as teachers, mentors, and friends, and I know there is nothing to scared of. There are only things to look forward to, only things to learn.

                   "I'll see you in the future when we're older, and we are full of stories to be told
                       Crossing our hearts and hope to die, I'll see you with your laughter lines"

And though they do not know it, all mankind are now your brothers

Lately I've been noticing posts about introverts popping up pretty much everywhere. Memes, lists, full-on articles, you name it. Suddenly, it seems, it's more socially acceptable to have a more inward-aimed personality, and it's hip to understand us. I think that's pretty cool, and since I have 27 years of first-hand experience being (not to brag or anything) a classic introvert in pretty much every sense I thought I'd join the conversation, which is something I am rarely inclined to do unless I feel that what I have to say is interesting or valuable. (You see what I did there?)

First of all, let me clear something up about this blog. I started it as a food and travel blog, because at the time I created it that was my jam. Don't get me wrong, I still love traveling and food will always be the closest thing to my heart besides a few very special individuals, but I don't seem to be going on trips and eating out as much as I did when I was 24/25. How Adam and I managed to then is a bit beyond me, given that we were definitely more poor than we are now. But enough about that. The point is, I need an outlet for my addled mind, I need to let things out that twist and fester and scream from inside, and just pouring it all out to a loved one sounds a bit cruel, so why not make it elective reading? Good? Good, let's move on.

So, introverts, what is they? Who are what? When is how? Let's start with what an introvert is not. An introvert is not just a shy or quiet person. While those qualities can definitely be and often are part of an introvert's complex personality, shy people are not always introverts and introverts are not always shy. I'll use my own experience as an example. When I was a kid, I was extremely, cripplingly shy. I was not only quiet around my classmates and peers, I actively avoided interaction with them. I didn't understand their boisterous play or their loud, raucous interactions with each other. This wasn't to say that I didn't want to be a part of things, in fact I desperately did, I simply did not know how. It was almost as if they spoke another language. For a kid this is not only confusing, it is scary, so avoidance often seems like the best option, and that is interpreted by other kids as weird, uncomfortable, unapproachable, etc. So a wallflower I was, and a wallflower I remained throughout all of grade school and through most of high school. What actually drew me out of that (at least a little bit) was getting involved with theatre and speech club, but I already talked about goddamn theatre and how much it's helped me in my last post, and if I start again I'll probably start openly weeping, and we can't have that. Stupid theatre, go away (except don't because I'm obsessed with you).  THE POINT IS, today, there are probably not a whole lot of people who would describe me as shy. Quietly reflective at times? Maybe. Occasionally hard to stay in touch with? Perhaps. But the most noticeable difference between 7-year-old me and late twenties me is that I can turn it on when I know it's time.

Even in my mousiest days I have always been kind of in love with the world, and the people in it. People fascinate me. This is going to sound really lame and sappy, but I am just so enraptured by the idea that within every living being lies the endless sea of emotions, impulses, and thoughts that I experience on my own. It's beautiful. It's poetry. It's magic. What's even better is that I have been fortunate enough to forge some really meaningful relationships with other people, and to me this is nothing short of a triumph. How am I that lucky? How is anyone that lucky? Because I want this and I need this, I force myself out there to interact with people, to speak with them, to know them.

So here's the rub. No matter how much I crave human interaction, so matter how rewarding it is for me when I get it, it comes at a price. Here's why. Interaction with other people does not always come naturally to me, except with a very small handful of people. As I mentioned before, it is almost like speaking another language. You always have to think a sentence (or two) ahead of what you're saying, and you are always running the risk of sounding like a complete and utter moron. I think this is why writing appeals to me so much, because I am in absolute control of what goes on the page. I think this is also why I'm so drawn to theatre (godammit), because when you are acting, not only are you pretending to be someone you're not, away from all your social anxieties and neuroses, you are operating in a safe space where everything is mapped out for you, and you don't have to worry about your words being misinterpreted or your actions being perceived as too forward, weird, etc. When I'm just speaking off the cuff, that is not the case. I can't tell you how often I regret the words that come fluttering out of my mouth. I am a chronic apologizer, over-explainer, and facebook status deleter (facebook statuses and texts fall under the speaking blanket, as they tend to be impulsive, and are the bane of my existence). So I think you can see how social interaction causes me some anxiety, and here comes the part with the cup metaphor. There's a reason it exists, because it's so true. I have a limited amount of social energy. I know some people do not, and I am in awe of those people. However, I have my limits. There comes a point for me at every gathering or interaction when I am just...done.  I wish I had more to say, I wish I had more to contribute, but I am done, and I cannot. The cup is empty, and it will not again be full until I have had sufficient Mandy time to recharge. I am not angry, I am not sad, I am simply empty. Done.

So here's what I've been driving at - introverts are a lot like extroverts sometimes in terms of our social needs. We like human interaction, we even crave it, need it. The main difference is that instead of it being therapeutic for us, it is, for lack of a better word, aerobic. It's a lot like exercise. We have to pump ourselves up for it, and while it can be a lot of fun while it's happening, and we know it's good for us, we need the recovery time afterwards if we ever expect to do it again.

Well I hope you all enjoyed this trip down the rabbit hole, I think I learned a few things myself. If anything, I  would hope that an extrovert reads this and realizes, "Wow, introverts are cray, I kind of dig it."