Yeah Yeah Yeah
Tonight, driving back from Target, L. had some peppy, sing-along-able 80s music in her car stereo. After a brief few blocks of caterwauling, I realized that it’s been a long time since I’ve gone careening down a freeway, music pulsing just above the road noise, feeling reckless and unlimited, like I could be in Tijuana tomorrow morning eating gut-searing birria and catching up on my Mexican slang. Or sitting under the el in Chicago, as the case often was.
It’s a feeling I associate with youth, or rather, young adulthood – a visceral sense of my enormous potential to drive places, to do things. When blind-hearted old fogies insist that I’m living the best years of my life, this feeling is what I think they are missing. Not to mention the fact that when you’re young, you’ve got nothing better to do than drive around and beat your chest.
Lately I’ve been noticing my body, and how it craves sweet food less often than it used to, how it makes me wake up in the mornings, how it protests when I pull an all-nighter, how it makes me coo at babies (but only from a distance! I’m not that far gone yet!). It seems to be leaving adolescence, finally, so I’ve been feeling old. Responsible. Domesticated.