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dabbling in reverie

The musings of a small town 20 year old working on some colorful patches to add to her quilt of life. Warning: the occasional elephant will be passing through

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a number is only a number

I think the amount of importance we place on age is so incredibly dumb. I mean, obviously when a 12 year old dates a 17 year old there’s something to scratch your head over. But we do reach a certain age where the number of years between us and other people stops being as important of a factor as it once was. Age difference doesn’t necessarily relate to just romantic relationships, but friendships as well. I have always gravitated towards older people. I don’t find maturity intimidating, but rather a breath of fresh air. Adult conversation sends me into a spiral of social satisfaction. I’ve become quite close with several former teachers, close enough to the point that I now see them as friends. They may have a few years on me, but they are some of the best friendships I’ve ever been a part of. They’ve experienced things I am yet to experience and always have wise words of advice. It’s like I have all these mentors and lunch buddies rolled into one. I’ve received quite a bit of grief from people who view these new relationships as odd, but if you have interests in common with people, why should age be a limiting factor? I’m more at ease with these “adults” than I am with half the people my own age. It’s an entirely different set of friends, and though I love both equally and for separate reasons entirely, these older companions never cease to bring a smile to my face. 

50 Questions with a Twist

On stumbleupon tonight, I came across a site asking you to answer 50 meaningful questions, questions that have no right or wrong answer, but simply allow you to reflect on life and everything it involves. Although I’m usually not into “challenges” this one seems worth trying. 

Question 1: How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

This is going to be a bipolar answer. According to my older friends, I would be in my late twenties, early thirties. I tend to be more mature than a lot of people my age, the motherly figure I suppose. I like talking with adults, having a conversation that consists of topics other than who fooled around with who, how many shots were taken at a party, what snookie did on the latest episode of jersey shore, etc. 

Sometimes I feel really old. Not physically, or mentally, but that I’ve been around a few times. I feel like my souls been on Earth more than a few times. I feel this old sense of youthfulness, if that makes any sense? I see places and feel like I’v been there, that I miss them. I love to learn, love to understand. 

And then there’s the part of me that still thinks I’m five. The part that kicks my feet under the dinner table, giggles for no reason, will cuddle up on the couch to watch a disney movie, and still sees my parents as superheroes. The one whose vivid imagination still runs rampant even though I’m going to be twenty this year (holy shit). 

I feel like age is such a silly boundary anyway. Why does a certain amount of years define the things we do, who we love, who we connect with, dictate what we read and watch, even eat? It’s really a silly thing.