The evolution of your adulting body
I have been reflecting upon the physical meaning of adulting. None of that 'getting your sh*t together' talk. You've been warned, things are about to get real and graphic here.
In my experience, being young means that you're not bothered by the idea of your future and, on top of that, you may even feel invincible. I am sure everyone has, at least once in their lives, gone to bed with wet hair, had a midnight swim, passed out curled up on an armchair after one too many drinks, or sat underneath an air vent, knowing that nothing bad would happen.
Let me burst your youth bubble: everything you thought you could do, may harm you now.
Especially the draft!
Once you are over twenty-five years of age, things start to hurt, and what doesn't hurt is drastically changing. On a scientific level, your cells stop regenerating as fast as they used to, which means you will notice the first wrinkles, the occasional grey hair, hair thinning, skin sagging in the most random places, and your metabolism is officially retired.
Did you like that milkshake? You better do, because it will stick to your thighs for a long time.
On a social level, instead, here's what happens if you decide to go out for drinks after work when you are twenty-one: you leave work and not only go out, but end up on a pub crawl with a group of crazy French tourists, sleep on a friend's couch, and wake up the next day to attend a family meal as a perfectly functioning human being.
When you are twenty-five, you need at least a day of notice. You have to bring an extra jacket, spare shoes, and remember to touch up your make-up before you go. You will know exactly when it's your bedtime because you will start yawning and, in your head, you can't help comparing the comfort of your blanket and Netflix shows to these damn shoes and the crowded bar with no seats. At this point, you don't even know what your friends are talking about, you can barely hear them, maybe you should get another drink, or maybe not, because the bathrooms in this place are horrible. Why are all the people in this place so obnoxious? Where are the cool people you used to meet in clubs a few years ago? Has the world changed, or have you? Should you just go home? You've hit two bars, seen your friends, that's enough, right? Surely you will need to get an aspirin from your fully stocked medicine cabinet before bed and you will still wake up with a massive headache tomorrow. Let's cancel all further plans.
On a lighter note, you know you aren’t young and fearless anymore when every movement requires a sound, a crack, or a grunt. Getting out of the car? That’s a grunt. Sitting down on the sofa? Another sound. Opening a bottle? Sound. Picking up your socks from the floor? You guessed it.
To give you a better idea of an adulting body, think of Sci Fi movie spaceships: in modern times everything emits a comforting buzzing electric hum, whereas in the older movies every piece of technology made a sound. Beep! Kzzz! BooBup! Krkrkreww! Hnnnnng!
That’s an accurate depiction of me crawling in bed after the gym.
Image: via
In my experience, being young means that you're not bothered by the idea of your future and, on top of that, you may even feel invincible. I am sure everyone has, at least once in their lives, gone to bed with wet hair, had a midnight swim, passed out curled up on an armchair after one too many drinks, or sat underneath an air vent, knowing that nothing bad would happen.
Let me burst your youth bubble: everything you thought you could do, may harm you now.
Especially the draft!
Once you are over twenty-five years of age, things start to hurt, and what doesn't hurt is drastically changing. On a scientific level, your cells stop regenerating as fast as they used to, which means you will notice the first wrinkles, the occasional grey hair, hair thinning, skin sagging in the most random places, and your metabolism is officially retired.
Did you like that milkshake? You better do, because it will stick to your thighs for a long time.
On a social level, instead, here's what happens if you decide to go out for drinks after work when you are twenty-one: you leave work and not only go out, but end up on a pub crawl with a group of crazy French tourists, sleep on a friend's couch, and wake up the next day to attend a family meal as a perfectly functioning human being.
When you are twenty-five, you need at least a day of notice. You have to bring an extra jacket, spare shoes, and remember to touch up your make-up before you go. You will know exactly when it's your bedtime because you will start yawning and, in your head, you can't help comparing the comfort of your blanket and Netflix shows to these damn shoes and the crowded bar with no seats. At this point, you don't even know what your friends are talking about, you can barely hear them, maybe you should get another drink, or maybe not, because the bathrooms in this place are horrible. Why are all the people in this place so obnoxious? Where are the cool people you used to meet in clubs a few years ago? Has the world changed, or have you? Should you just go home? You've hit two bars, seen your friends, that's enough, right? Surely you will need to get an aspirin from your fully stocked medicine cabinet before bed and you will still wake up with a massive headache tomorrow. Let's cancel all further plans.
On a lighter note, you know you aren’t young and fearless anymore when every movement requires a sound, a crack, or a grunt. Getting out of the car? That’s a grunt. Sitting down on the sofa? Another sound. Opening a bottle? Sound. Picking up your socks from the floor? You guessed it.
To give you a better idea of an adulting body, think of Sci Fi movie spaceships: in modern times everything emits a comforting buzzing electric hum, whereas in the older movies every piece of technology made a sound. Beep! Kzzz! BooBup! Krkrkreww! Hnnnnng!
That’s an accurate depiction of me crawling in bed after the gym.
Image: via
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