Lately, I’ve realised getting older is less about dramatic life changes and more about small, unexpected shifts that sneak up on you.
Here are a few things no one really warns you about.
Your taste buds change.
My go-to breakfast used to be banana and oats. Now? I hate bananas. Hate is actually too soft a word. The smell alone disgusts me. I also randomly stopped eating apples for reasons I cannot explain. It just…happened. I drink my tea black now. The bitter the better. I have owned the same container of sugar for two years. TWO. YEARS. At this point, it is just emotional support sugar.
Wine tastes better with age
There was a time wine tasted like battery acid mixed with regret, and the only wine I could truly enjoy was a pink zinfandel. Now? I love all of them, white, red, pink. Give it to me.
Getting older equals random aches
Why did nobody warn me about surprise joint pain? I danced all night at a party, feeling youthful and unstoppable. The next morning, my knees said, “You will pay for it.” Since when did recovery take three to five business days?
You develop very specific tastes
My ideal man (and dog) is hairless from head to toe. Facial hair can stay. Everything else is negotiable. I have developed an alarming, very specific attraction to NERDY TALL BALD men with tattoos and a moustache. Once, a man I was dating asked me what I found most attractive about him. I said, “You’re bald.” Thankfully, as the average Scandinavian man starts balding early, there’s no shortage in my area. At this point, my dating history is starting to look like a line-up of clones. All very similar, all very bald.
The streets vs suburban wife identity crisis
Getting older means waking up daily and asking: do I belong to the streets or do I belong to early nights, family dinners and bedtime stories?
Some days I want spontaneous adventures, chaotic fun, and stories that start with “so we ended up in another country…”
Other days, I want a partner, candles, matching dinner plates, and hand-holding while doing the grocery shopping.
Which leads to long-term confusion: do I want a child-free life? One or two tiny humans? Or maybe even a peaceful apartment with two hairless dogs I refer to as my children? I once went raving with a man I was dating, and it unlocked a new personality trait. I said, “Wow, we could do this every weekend.”
He shrugged and said, “I’m over it, I’m turning 30 soon. I’d like a family.” HUMBLING!
Fitness and healthy living become non-negotiable
I no longer exercise for aesthetics alone. I lift weights for my bones. My BONES. I count steps like they contribute to my pension plan. Tracking my sleep now directly determines whether I will be a functional, pleasant human being the next day.