I’ve thought I was too old for things since I was eight years old and my sister started to learn the violin. She is five years younger, and the program she enrolled in would only accept three year olds. This is my first memory of feeling I’d aged out of a category, that I was over the hill.
At fourteen I started to study piano, but I quit after a year, feeling silly in a recital with six year olds.
When I was 21 and working at an investment back as a secretary, I remember thinking I was too old to learn how to edit film, like my friend Suzy told me her friend Diane was doing at the -gasp!- ancient age of 35.
When I was 23 and newly heartbroken, my least favorite aunt begged me to try to reconcile with my ex, lest I die an old maid.
When I was 25 I figured I’d better make something of myself and so I went to graduate school in education even though I really wanted to go to art school.
It’s only in the last year that I’ve started doing things even after thinking I am too old to do them, because I am only getting older. And I have enough perspective know to know how young I was in my twenties, and how young I will seem now to my future self. On behalf of myself fifteen years from now, I am pursuing interests that scare me, that are daunting, that make me feel old. Because I’d rather feel a little silly now than regret later on not having tried.