The Future’s So Bright I’ve Got To Wear Shades…

Many summers ago, during a companionable swim on a perfect South Coast beach, a suntanned, 19 year old Peggy glibly declared to her handsome swimming companion that 24 was her ‘Scary Age’. The age at which she would begin to see herself as an adult. The age at which she would begin to achieve adult things. The age at which she would begin using anti-wrinkle eye cream.

In a few short weeks, readers, I am turning 24.

What does this Scary Age mean now that I’m staring down its barrel? Well, I guess my 19 year old self was right – I can no longer see myself as anything but an adult, because I am doing all those adult things which seemed so far away at 19. I’ve moved out of home. I’m no longer working in retail. I’ve moved on from my first car (R.I.P LaShonda) to a car with power windows and central locking, and 4 doors. I’ve finished one degree and am midway through a PhD. I no longer drink and smoke like I used to. I’m punctual, at least more punctual than I used to be. I have rich and beautiful relationships with many loved ones. I bake my own sourdough bread. In short, readers, I feel very grown up, and ready to tackle The Scary Age head on.

There still remains the issue, though, of wrinkles, and the necessary commencement of early prevention measures. Last semester I noticed that I had a groove on my forehead, in a rather unusual spot – high up, and near my hairline. My first wrinkle. I immediately began to pull faces at the mirror. What facial expression was it that I was using to give myself an early onset wrinkle at 23? I tried smiling. It wasn’t a happy wrinkle. Ok, frowning then – still no corresponding line. Brows furrowed in deep contemplation of life’s mysteries? Nope. It was only when I gave up the silly game of pulling faces at the mirror, and let my incredulity at this whole situation show on my face, that it became plain. As the saying goes, you get the face you deserve at 50 (or 23), and the face I apparently deserve is the face of incredulity.

Cue existential crisis.

Since this disturbing discovery of my persistent incredulity, I have been trying earnestly to think un-incredulous thoughts. So far, so unsuccessful. There are too many WTF moments in life, particularly when you mark first year essays with the frequency that I do. So, I have compensated for my inability to be credulous by drinking lots of water, eating lots of avocados, and, most importantly, wearing sunglasses. All the time. Hence the title of this post.

You see, I feel like I can face anything that The Scary Age, and all the ages after me, throws my way when I’m ensconced in a pair of oversized shades. Somehow, putting them on makes me feel collected and together, like I am competent and can do all these grown up things I have to – and want to – do.

Like working on a perfect summer’s day rather than swimming at that perfect beach.