It happened again. You woke up and looked in the mirror and staring back at you were the vacant, aging eyes of a 27 year old. Like sand through the hourglass, time has passed, and it has been unkind. All the memories of your glory days hang in frames in your bedroom. You keep a travel bottle of Tums in your car now. After one beer on a Wednesday, you look at your friends and say, “let’s not get crazy.” You saw most of the best picture nominees. You took an improv class. You liked the improv class. You joined a book club. You play in an adult kickball league.
But it’s going to be okay, and next year you’ll be 28 and that will be okay too. No one is keeping score. Some day you’ll be 75 and still chill af. Look back at the mirror, you’re 27 and everything is fine, and you don’t have to be anything else.