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Signs I’m getting older

Yesterday Andrew and I celebrated the 6th anniversary of the first time we met. We tend to celebrate just about every date we can remember from the progression of our relationship:

  • meeting (18 May)
  • first ‘date’ (7 June),
  • the infamous surprise (15 June),
  • moving in together (11 Jan),
  • going steady (11 Feb),
  • engagement (13 March), and
  • wedding (26 August).

That’s where it ends, for now at least. And yes, those are the order in which those things happened.  I always say it’s because I’ll take any excuse to find Andrew a present and go out for a nice meal. That’s certainly part of it (we went to L’Autre Pied last night, btw. Great food. Mediocre service). But a bigger part of it is that in the absence of an academic year, time blends into itself so easily, and having milestones divides up time into a more human scale. I suspect that’s no small part of the durability of holidays and religious festivals, but that’s a topic for another blog post.

Andrew turned 30 a couple weeks ago, and he was none too happy about it. Getting older has never bothered me, and in fact there are lots of parts of getting older that I quite like:

  • being able to listen to audio books unashamedly (I just downloaded 35 hours of Middlemarch: game on!),
  • going home early,
  • getting up early,
  • being able to afford nice things,
  • not destroying the nice things I own,
  • patience,
  • self-knowledge, and
  • being able to ride a bike without my hands.

There was a great quote from a 30 Rock we watched the other day: I like to keep Boss Liz and Friend Liz separate, because Boss Liz is all “Paperwork paperwork!” but Friend Liz is like “My feet hurt, I’m staying in tonight.” Exactly.

The only thing that makes me sad about getting older is that other people get older too, and I don’t get to spend nearly as much time with the people I love as I would like.

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