I'm writing this sitting on an airplane between two ageing uncles (one of whom has been binge-watching grey's anatomy for the past hour) while ruminating on life.
Back when I was 18, I predicted that I'd like to die at 29 3/4. Thirty was going to mean old age, failing bodily functions and senility.
Today I turned 30.
Rusting body is right - it seems the metabolism that unfailingly sustained me through my 20s has failed and my scales don't tilt towards the 50s or even the 60s anymore. From someone who could live-in in her jeans for weeks at a stretch now prefers to be in PJs (when in polite company) and pantless (when not).
As for old age - well it's not as bad as I imagined. There are regrets, of course - a wasted youth (should have dated more; dressed better; taken advantage of that body and those fleetingly good looks; saved more; kept more friends) but otherwise I'm okay.
For one, I found Bear -- a rarity among men (and among people, for that matter). He is kind and gentle and with the purest heart that I've ever met. Someone who never strays from his principles - not for love, not for friendship, not for money, not for anything. He has a curiosity about the world that's unquenchable and an undying optimism that can lighten the darkest day. That's not to say, he's a saint, not by any measure. He's also arrogant and overconfident and reckless in a way only boys can be. But for those shoulders and that smile, I think I can forgive him almost anything.
He's taught me a lot about love and happiness but above all, about living a life with grace. But that's another story.
I thought I knew love - that torrential, volcanic, undulating ferocity that usually accompanies an act of god. With Bear, I have discovered something else - a tranquil stillness, deepening like a coastal shelf, anchoring my wayward self, bringing my soul to rest -- a sense that I've only ever been to find sitting by the sea.
It's been four years now - a half year of which we have spent married - which thankfully hasn't done anything to us except make our lives a little easier. Hoping that never changes.
Let's see. The other big reflection -- the job. As the bodhi speculated, it seems I'm slowly and reluctantly climbing up the corporate ladder - joining the scores of talented, entitled and confused creatures that wander the cubicle nation. In the absence of writing (for which I lack the discipline), this is the next best thing. Though I have a feeling it will also be the biggest regret of the next decade. On the plus side, I'm making enough money to now shop at Ratandeep. Hopefully, in the next decade, I can upgrade to Namdhari.
As for senility, it has certainly arrived. I've already become that crabby person who hates (i) teenagers (ii) children (iii) old people and pigeons.
I'm also beginning to question if I know anything. Everything in the world feels like absurd theatre:
- eating activated charcoal
- cancer
- mob trials
- beauty brands, bloggers, and giggly adolscent girls.
- bad literature
- rents and real estate in general
- gated communities in particular.
- people who procreate
- people who make their parents pay for their weddings
- instagram stories
- tinder/grindr/aisle/truly madly/okcupid, bharat matrimony
- elon misk
- overachievers of any kind
- application and scholarships processes
- male leaders
- the immigrant crisis
- god fearing people
- adventurists
- hollywood franchises
- clothing for women
You get the point.
So, would I want to die just yet? No. There's still too many places in the world I haven't yet seen. And there's the puppy bear promised to get. And the home, I want to put together. Not to mention the book/article that'll put me on the map. Getting a job that'll give me Sodexo.
So enough to live for still. Shall revisit when I'm 39 3/4ths.
