age

I have refused to let my age define how I am supposed to behave as a mother, as a chef, as a writer, and most importantly as a woman.

Would you really rather not get older?

If forgoing all the foods I once loved to eat; if the hours clocked walking, swimming, and biking isn't doing it for me anymore, what will?

If forgoing all the foods I once loved to eat; if the hours clocked walking, swimming, and biking isn't doing it for me anymore, what will?

Having been born in 1982, I qualify as a member of the millennial generation, but just by a hair. Often, I feel like an old lady, sometimes the last to catch on to to the fads claimed by this group — and when I do, I fall hard. (I’m looking at you, leggings-as-pants.)

Those who would find themselves genuinely excited about simple, fun things are often written off as losers with nothing better to do, while the jaded pat themselves on the back for how mature and intelligent they so obviously are. However, the longer you look at it, the more you begin to notice that it’s quite the opposite.

I find myself in this place again. I am numb. I feel empty. I almost have no words.
In 2012, around the time of the birth of my son, I had a similar feeling. Trayvon Martin was killed. I was pregnant with a black male in a world that was not ready for him.

There’s almost definitely a better way to begin this, but I can’t think of one more appropriate. Growing up is really fucking weird. One day you’re having a great time arguing if Doctor Doom would beat Darth Vader in a fight (he would,) and next thing you know you’re worrying about taxes and whatever a “mortgage” is.