Thoughts on Aging from a Cubs Game
Brock and I went to a Cubs game last week with some of our friends. While sitting watching the screen announcing information about the players-- which reminds me, how boring must games pre-big screens have been? -- and I saw a player who was born in 1990. I was born in 1991 and when I saw his birthdate I thought, “Whoa, that guy is so young!” And then I realized that he is not that young. He is 26, which is a perfectly normal age to be in the major leagues. It hit me suddenly: I am not extremely young anymore. I am 25, which is young to be a CEO or professor, and maybe slightly young to be a mother of a one-year-old, but I am getting older. And that felt weird to realize.
The game had a rain delay and started at 8:40 PM instead of 7:05 PM. We stayed until the middle of the sixth inning, then took a bus back to our friends’ house and drove our car back home. We got home a little before midnight and didn’t get to bed until 12:30.
I haven’t been to bed that late in months, and when James woke up the next morning at 5:45 AM (which is practically sleeping in for him), I felt like dying. It was so brutal. I let Brock sleep in until 7, and then I went back to bed until 8:30 while he stayed with James. I had a headache and felt testy all day, and it took me at least two days to feel fully recovered from staying up that late.
How did I get so old? I used to go to bed at midnight every night (although I did sleep in until 8 at least) but I had never noticed the effect of one late night as much as I did then. Obviously, 25 is not old. But it is the oldest I have ever been and I am becoming more aware of the way that getting older is subtly changing who I am. And it’s weird. Not bad, just weird.