Turning 31

I turned 31 today.

That feels weird to write. Thirty-one always sounded older when I was younger. Thirty-one-year-olds were proper adults who knew what they were doing. They probably had a house, a career, and their life mostly figured out.

I don’t feel that different from 30. I still don’t feel like a proper adult. My wife, my kids, and the growing collection of responsibilities say otherwise.

Several months ago, I was picking the kids up from school when I glanced in the rearview mirror. That’s when I noticed them: silver hairs scattered throughout my hair. Not one or two hairs I could blame on the lighting. Enough that I noticed them without looking for them.

I don’t like them.

My wife says she loves them. She actually seems to mean it, too. I appreciate that, but I still keep checking the mirror and hoping they haven’t spread any further.

It’s not really about the hair. It’s that my age is starting to show up without asking permission. I can remember being a kid and thinking 31 was impossibly far away. Now it’s here, and apparently it comes with silver hair.

I know 31 isn’t old. I know that most people would probably tell me I’m still young. They’re right. But knowing that doesn’t make it feel any less strange to look in the mirror and see something I wasn’t expecting.

Anyway, I’m 31 now. My wife likes the silvers. I do not.

until next time