Getting Older
I’m tired of age milestones.
I saw an ad for a singles meetup.
It was one of those companies that hold events for singles in different cities across the country, an experience for those sick of the dating apps (which I believe is every single person these days).
It looked intriguing.
As someone who is single and have deleted the apps more times than I can count, and as someone who keeps telling himself to “put yourself out there,” I clicked on the ad.
Might as well check it out.
While my idea of fun isn’t going on an outdoor adventure with other random singles all of whom are like me and hoping to find a significant other before the holiday season rolls along, I told myself to at least give it consideration.
After all, I’m not getting any younger.
That’s when I realized a harder truth.
I’m getting older.
I’m not old old. I’m decades from that, even if my back feels otherwise.
But what I discovered was that this particular singles dating event organization was advertised for those 22 to 33.
I am 36.
I’m older.
