Paula Dubbink used to stress about her age, especially when she met housemates born as late as 1995. But recently, she has realized that she would gladly accept wrinkles in exchange for some life experience.
It’s at least a year ago. While washing my hands in the bathroom, I suddenly noticed something strange on my head. As I leaned over the sink for a closer look I could no longer deny: I had discovered my first grey hair. For a second, heavy feelings about mortality and life’s unavoidable ending flashed through my head. Then I decided not to take this too heavily and left.
After plucking out the hair, I admit.
Nowadays I can easily joke about my first grey hair, but inside I’m happy that the first one wasn’t any soon followed by many more. When a friend of a friend recently guessed that I was probably “around thirty”, I didn’t feel very flattered, and for the same reason I feel equally much relieved whenever the employee at Systembolaget asks for my ID: phew, I still look young.
In fact, our culture celebrates and glorifies youngness. It’s hard to not be influenced. Advertisements often show us young, healthy people, regardless of the product that is being promoted. Whether it’s a car, a drink, a snack or anything else, it seems positive to link it to the fountain of youth: use this, and you’ll feel like in your young years again. Or, in the case of a crème, pill or hair dyeing product: use this, and you will look like in your young years again.
Everyone knows that we’re aging, but we try to forget, or to hide.
Now I’m only 26 and that will be considered very young by many – “what are you worrying about, little girl?”. However, my student corridor is taken over more and more by people in the 1990s. It reminds me daily that my student years are running towards the end. And while that’s completely natural, it feels sad. At the same time, I wouldn’t want to exchange places with the 18-year olds I know. I don’t long back for all the uncertainty coming along with standing at one’s own feet for the first time, from choosing the right study program to figuring out how to do the laundry.
Rather, I have started to feel jealous of people older than me. Indeed, they might have wrinkles and more than one grey hair, but they have gained those through years of, well, living, simply. They have made choices, probably some wrong ones, and they know the consequences. They have built up a career – or at least tried to – and they have a somewhat better clue of what life has had and will have in stock for them.
For that reason, I swear to welcome any new grey hairs on my head with respect. I will treasure it as a sign of life experience: something that I can’t study for, but that will only come with the years. Bring it on!
