Yes, conventional wisdom would say that, because I was born forty-two years ago, I am forty-two years old. But I once heard age is a state of mind. And my state of mind just so happens to be hip as fuck. My state of mind is still in its thirties.
My state of mind does not take blood pressure medication or play the Sudoku app on its iPhone during its morning poop. My state of mind does not wear a jacket and tie to his job as an insurance adjuster. My state of mind isn’t worried about that weird mole on his shoulder. My state of mind is not named Doug. My body is all of those things. But my state of mind is not.
My state of mind is named Shawn. Or Bradley. Or Gareth. My state of mind wears drop-crotch, carrot-fit, cargo joggers. My state of mind only sends vid messages on Marco Polo. My state of mind just scored a new dope-ass pair of Yeezy’s. My state of mind Juuls on the subway. My state of mind subscribes to the belief that “there are no laws when you’re drinking Claws.” My state of mind would really like you to check out its SoundCloud.
My state of mind doesn’t need reading glasses, or “cheaters” as people in their forties call them. These right here aren’t so much reading glasses as they are a design-forward expression of my affiliation with nerd culture. Are they necessary to read a restaurant menu or a text message? Yes. But Taylor Swift basically has the exact same pair, so…
My state of mind skipped school to attend the #ClimateStrike. Sure, my body was sitting in a cubicle analyzing the cost effectiveness of different underwriting models, but my state of mind was tweeting about how Greta Thunberg is “totes my spirit animal.”
Old forty-somethings don’t “get” fashion. But like, my state of mind totally understands how chunky white FILA sneakers have made a comeback. Yep, that makes complete and total sense to my state of mind.
My state of mind isn’t dumping money into two kids’ 529 savings plans. Doug is such an idiot. Instead, my state of mind is considering a few different tattoo artists to finish the rest of his sleeve. Shawn does his research (aka, not an idiot).
Contrary to what you might be thinking, I’m not trying desperately to hang on to withering fragments of a disappearing sense of youth, nor am I trying to self-lie my way out of grappling with the onslaught of my own mortality. My state of mind just took a DNA test and it turns out I’m 100% not even close to being forty! You heard right. My state of mind is that bitch.
My state of mind does not care what my birth certificate, driver’s license, passport, banking and medical records all say. I’m not forty-two. I’m thirty-twelve.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my state of mind needs to recharge its Juul. And it would still really appreciate it if you checked out my SoundCloud.
