Thirtysomething Rumination: Playing Grown Up

The twentysomethings are usually slightly adorable to me, but sometimes I just want to shake them.  And, yes, I once was a twentysomething.  I recognize that, and I am grateful to the sum of time and tragedy that allows me to reflect fondly, albeit with a certain degree of shame and horror, on those years.

These budding adults, the twentysomethings, fixate on alcohol.  They seem to find it interesting, hilarious even.  A few brief years previously, they were teenagers fascinated by the newness of profanity, tasting it in their mouths and listening to the sound of their own voices.  Now they practice references to liquors and wines and craft beers as they used to cuss.  They negotiate degrees of cool.

I am often charmed by the unabashed frivolity of youth and its reflection of pop culture, but the privileged twentysomethings, the ones who have never known poverty or truly faced mortality?  They bore me.