“Youth is wasted on the young.”
The famous George Bernard Shaw’s saying has been floating around in the swimming pool of my mind for weeks now, like Dustin Hoffman in the graduate laying face up closed off from the impending doom of adulthood that faced his college graduation.
It’s how I’ve been spending my Saturdays; face up to the sun in the swimming pool contemplating how my life imitates art and that I have to do something about it and quick. The most efficient way I’ve learned to appreciate my youth is to spend time with people ten years my elder. Meeting people, then slowly leaking out pieces of information, context clues until finally the question “Wait, how old are you?”, is answered “Twenty-one…” while batting my eyelashes and a toothy grin. The responses vary but most likely are encouraging and include a short piece of life advice.
I didn’t know I was into older guys until Steamy. I remember running home from the gym that night in a frenzy of excitement and exhilaration to tell the story, and how dumbstruck I felt staring at his birth date on my computer screen. The age of information is dangerous sometimes. I remember sitting in my dorm room, squealing up the stairs to Rachel with questions about my intentions and his intentions and how I could go about engaging in something like that. Little did I know it would be formative learning experiences. He laughed the other day when I admitted that I considered him one of my role models.
I’m certain there will be a backlash. That people will resent me for my youth and find me naieve and waste of time. What can anyone learn from me when I’m limited on life experience? But that just encourages me to work harder. To not let my youth be wasted on planning for the future. The future will happen whether I plan it or not so I may as well take advantage of the most self oriented time in my life to pursue my own happiness. As of right now? It’s sex, Jenny Lewis and hand written letters. Tomorrow? I’ll keep you posted.
