mid twenties

Grizzly Bear: “How’s the balcony?”

Balcony (where we are sitting): “Wahooooo”

Grizzly Bear: “Yeah, it’s a Tuesday, I don’t blame you. I’d be up there…I’m old.”

Grizzly Bear, so good live

You know that ideal age you picture yourself? It does not necessarily correlate with your chronological age, but when people ask you how old you are, your mind immediately thinks “23” (back there where my identity lies anyway). I have a friend who claims 27, maybe a very coming of age year for her.

This Tuesday, husBen and I went to a Grizzly Bear concert at the House of Blues downtown (a proud feat for our mid-twenties). I am 25, to be exact, and I can still live big on a Tuesday (a fact I will happily claim). I had to wear my glasses, yes, but I also wore a totally throwback number (a little white dress) that I purchased at Target quite possibly as far back as my late teens.

Guess what? I am proud to be 25. Maybe this will be my new ideal age…or at least I will start answering more promptly with my accurate age next time someone asks me. This is the age you close your eyes and throw your head back to sway to the beat of live music and dually consider it a spiritual moment. This is also the age where a dinner party trumps a dance party (most of the time) and you feel joyfully content to pass out spoons to your dearest friends and gather around a pizookie (all scooping up chunks of cookie and ice cream out of the same big skillet). This is the age you top off each other’s wine when it would be irresponsible to pour your own self more (and we are all about adjusting to responsibility this decade).

This is our age….and I believe (by keen observation) that this age persists until our mid-fifties. 

quality moments here