Socially Awkward

This month I’m in Melbourne sorting out my son’s enrolment to uni. Everyday, we’ve managed to find ourselves trundling down to the uni to sit and wait for one thing or another. As we wander around the campus and wait our turn at student services, I get to see all the youth in their various shapes, colours and sizes.

When I was 18 I thought people in their 40s were near the end of their lives, incredibly boring. They’d never known excitement, never been anywhere and definitely knew nothing about anything worth knowing. They were also incredibly daggy and uncool.

I’m now in my 40s and boy am I pleased I am. Something happens when one reaches their 40s – you just don’t give a toss what anyone thinks about you anymore. I don’t know why. You just wake up one morning and shrug, ‘whatever’. As long as you are comfortable, can get what you are after without having to deal with too many ‘young’ people, you just don’t care anymore.

Looking about the campus this week, I have inwardly chuckled everytime I’ve come upon a socially awkward youth. They look like they are about to burst into tears, completely self conscious about everything. Their silly attempts at individuality, their clothes, their hair, ironically giving them a uniform look. Or the reverse, they are so cocky they’ve managed to become ridiculous.

If having to have a load of grey hair, wrinkles, saggy tits and a baggy bum is what it takes to know where you belong in the world, to feel comfortable with who you are, then I’m happy to be in my 40s. As exciting as it is to be young at times, I’m happy to be shot of all the anxieties of fitting in and being true to myself at the same time.