Some People Grow Up. Some People Just Grow Old.
I simply love when an idea writes itself down. It’s the same with the title of this post.
There is a voyeurist in every one of us. In some more, in others less, but I don’t think that there is a person who, given the chance, won’t sneak a peek into somebody’s house/car/intimacy. I refuse to believe that. So, with that disclaimer, I confess: I scroll and judge. Most of the times I look for updates of my friends on Facebook or Instagram. There are also times when I just want to raise my blood pressure and check out profiles of “divas”, but let’s not open that can of worms.
My insidious scrolling and judging have led me to the conclusion that getting older is actually an art. You can do it with grace if you know how.
It’s like wine. Not all wine gets better with age. Some just get sour.
I can’t really speak for myself (just because I am not objective enough), but I can say I have noticed that there are some people who just become old. It has nothing to do with how many kids they’ve had or how spartan their schedule has gotten or how bald they’ve grown. No. You look at them and you just know those are the kind of people you looked at as a kid and thought “that is a grown-up”, whereby “grownup” was this rigid person who’d tell you to turn the music down because you are disturbing his parrot.
Why do dreams and phantasies have to die with age? Where is this need for redefining ‘normal’ stemming from? And why does it have to be so rigid?
It’s sad to see the green has slipped out of their soul and they have become somebody they dreaded. Where has that kid disappeared? That sparkle in the eyes, that refreshing spontaneity of thought.
While it is probably a good thing not to get drunk and run around half naked on the street anymore, thinking about it doesn’t hurt anybody, does it? Why should a thought be welcomed with such a disapproving grimace, because it’s always a grimace, isn’t it? It’s soul crushing.
Here is the difference between growing up and growing old.
Growing up means getting to a certain age when you know that running around drunk and naked might end you up in jail, so you make the conscious decision not to do it. Growing old means you don’t even think about running around drunk and naked because you care about what others might think of your thinking that. Do you catch my drift?
So yes, by scrolling and judging I observed a lot of people who succumbed to age.
They have become these toothless circus animals who do what they are told, act how they have been taught. That wouldn’t be so bad for the rest of the world, because society wants you tamed. However, there is a special category of tamed beasts for which my heart truly bleeds. Those are crazy the hearts, the misfits, the wildly courageous, the unsettled rebels. People I loved, admired and who have taught me.
And I dread it, I simply hate it, when I ask “X, you used to be so and so, remember this and that, those were wild times, so what the fuck happened?”, they answer “Ah, Oana, it’s life, you know.” This lack of taking responsibility drives me mad.
Yes, it is a sad post, but hey, I am going to make it up to you by writing about the stuff people should do to keep that kid alive. That should be fun.