And I'm getting older too

A note on not feeling my age

It was only a matter of time before I started naming pieces after Stevie Nicks lyrics, and nothing felt quite as fitting as this lyric from Landslide.

I remember when I was in my early 20s and felt like the coolest girl on earth because I liked Fleetwood Mac (as if they were this unknown band.) The manic pixie dream girl trend was rife and I had adopted the personality of Zooey Deschanel’s character in 500 Days of Summer like most millennial girls with a Tumblr account. But I never related to the lyrics of Landslide, especially when Stevie Nicks said “And I’m getting older too.” I was in my early twenties and my time felt unlimited. It felt like I’d stay 22 forever, and getting older wasn’t something I’d experience.

And then time somehow whizzed by and it’s nearly a decade on from that era of my life, and the lyrics to Landslide hit me hard now. I remember hearing it on the radio recently and feeling quite stunned by how struck I was by the ‘And I’m getting older too’ lyric because technically, I am, even if I don’t feel it.

I turn 32 (or 27 and a bit as I’ve been jokingly saying) next month, and it feels a little surreal. My idea of what life would look like at 32 is completely different to the vision my 22-year-old self had. There’s no mortgage or mini van full of kids, or bills stacked on the kitchen table, and wardrobe full of pencil skirts (thankfully.) However, the physical signs of a third decade on earth are starting to appear, grounding me and reminding me that I’m now ten years older than the girl who played 22 by Taylor Swift on repeat on her 22nd birthday. There are more lines around my eyes, I feel like a dinosaur when I listen to Olivia Rodrigo, and find myself loving all the clothes in Dunnes and M&S. I love how sure of myself I feel in my thirties. I love the clarity it brings and the comfort in really knowing who I am, but there’s one change that has been bugging me lately, and it’s not because of appearance reasons.

I’ve started noticing a tiny number of grey hairs in my fringe, which is something that has knocked me back a little. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with ageing at all. I plan on embracing my wrinkles like Diane Keaton did, but there’s something about going grey that feels quite striking to me. I look in the mirror and spot the odd grey hair here and there, and can’t quite grasp the fact that an entire decade has gone by in the blink of an eye. It isn’t the appearance of the grey hair that bothers me, but the frightening speed time is travelling at.

I feel incredibly lucky to age, and not to be afraid of it. There was a time in my life when I didn’t think I’d even make it to my 30th birthday, when my mental health was so bad that I couldn’t even picture a future, but here I am, one month out from my 32nd birthday and it all feels a little surreal. Surreal but nice, as Hugh Grant would say.

Those grey hairs were such a stark reminder of all the days I’ve experienced, the memories I’ve made, the adventures I’ve had, and the people I’ve met over these 30-something years. They’re a somewhat lovely representation of my time on earth, but slightly unsettling too. I always wish I could pause time, just for a moment, just to give myself a second to take it all in, but it’s the one thing we can’t control, and I’m trying to learn to accept that. The greys in my hair don’t define who I am or upset me in terms of physical appearance, but they have reminded me of just how lucky I am to be in my third decade. I hope there’ll be a day when an older Kat looks in the mirror with likely a full head of grey hair and she feels content with her lot.

I may be getting older too, but how lovely to now look forward to a future after being incapable of picturing one in which I existed.

Kat