As each month passes, I draw closer to the inevitable milestone — turning 30. I felt it appropriate that I had a recent musing that surprised myself, it wasn’t even just about growing older, so much as recognizing a change in mentality. And I wonder, how or when did that turning point occur. Is it related to a certain age? Or is it just a matter of how much you have to lose?
Recently, I spent the day with my friend and her husband and kids. We were driving back into the city from a day outing in the parks out on Long Island. It was already dark, although early evening, and we were winding through the narrow and crowded streets of Lower East Side to pick up dinner from a ramen place. From the safety of the SUV, I peered into dark streets and felt uneasy. Sketchy shadows loitered around, smoking and tossing cigarettes into the street. Loud voices could be heard around the car, as traffic and pedestrians mingled. It basically felt very seedy, with dilapidated storefronts. My friend’s husband pulled over on the street, flashing his lights, and hopped out to pick up the takeaway. I mentally started a timer, thinking if he didn’t return in 10 minutes, we had to call to make sure he was ok. Definitely a sign of overreaction; he returned in maybe 6 minutes. As we pulled away from the curb and turned into Ludlow, I started to recognize the buildings — the run-down $1 convenience shop, the dim-lit bars, the Rainbow thrift store, the Delancey stop. It shocked me. I lived here for a summer when I was a sophomore in college.
Eight years ago, I took an internship in Chinatown, living in LES, walking these streets in the morning and nights, completely fearless, devoid of any worry. Thinking back, I honestly remember being excited and unconcerned about the neighborhood. I was young, independent, and free to do what I wanted, living on my own in a big city for the first time. Nothing fazed me. I shrugged off my parents’ warnings for going out alone, rented a tiny dorm, sharing with strangers. Switching around at different Airbnb walk-ups (this was before Airbnb became mainstream) so it felt risky to stay in shared flats with random, unverified strangers. Not much has changed in this neighborhood. Yet, coming back for a brief moment the other night, the difference in my level of discomfort really surprised me.
We hear about this a lot, how parents would be overbearing over their teenage kids — citing it as a typical parental instinct. The usual stereotypes of how when you’re young, you aren’t afraid of anything, taking incredible risks. I’m not a parent, yet I am older and I’m acting like one. Why was I afraid of the dark streets, that clearly, at a much younger, more vulnerable age, I had so confidently traversed? It bothered me. I think as we get older, we’re more afraid of death or bad things happening. Maybe the added years have taught us that mortality exists. The years have given us more things to lose — from your family, your boyfriend, your assets, a comfortable living that you’ve worked for. Maybe, as a sophomore, I had nothing in my name and had not yet experienced loss, so felt completely invincible. Do you ever wonder how or when your mentality changes?
Maybe, this means that when you are younger, you should take those chances and just go do it because that fearless mentality might fade away without you even realizing.
