I'm 31. Time to Pick an Urn. Apparently.

I deactivated instagram.

It's probably temporary, but for now it's helping me avoid doom scrolling and finding my way into comment sections where I inevitably go on a path of mental destruction while I read long threads of arguments between complete strangers saying some pretty heinous crapola.

(Yes, crapola. A word my cousin used when we were kids, because crap was too edgy for her.)

It's not new and I don't know why I feel so compelled to read other people's ideas on topics when I already know pretty clearly where I stand on them.

I think it comes from my desperate need to be always challenging my own point of view, which can be a really nice thing.

But it can also be creating mental turmoil where it's not necessary.

This has happened with many topics throughout my many years on social media. The latest trigger point for me though is aging. Probably because I'm aging.

Actually, that's dumb. We're all aging. Newborns are aging. To be alive is to be aging.

But I am semi-newly into my 30s and apparently that's the time when everyone starts hating women. Which I find ironic, because from the point of view of many women I know, that's also about the time when with any luck and a lot of internal work we finally stop hating ourselves.

So that's very fun.

Despite the fact that I'm not exactly where I want to be in life, I feel like I have a decent handle on my confidence and self-esteem at this point. It only took three decades to realize that I can just be who I want and it really doesn't matter how other people feel about it.

It's a very interesting little conundrum to be in. My 30s have been a little rough so far, but considering I turned 30 the year after a global pandemic I think "rough" is the general consensus of the world right now so it's not like it's just me.

But otherwise, worldly issues aside I feel...okay. I've had some personal struggles to overcome but I feel fine, stable. Like I finally know it's going to be okay. After all, I've made it three decades, clearly some setbacks aren't the end of the world. My 20s were full of them and I still made it here.

But then I go onto social media and suddenly remember that in the digital world it doesn't matter what you think about you, it matters what everyone else thinks. Much like living through high school all over again.

I think maybe it's just my feed because I kept finding this content and looking at it but aging content keeps popping up. I don't really care about aging. Would I love to look 23 forever? I don't know. Kind of? But also kind of not?

But according to the general consensus online I should, because per the opinion of men with private profiles and sketchy usernames, women age like milk and lose our value after 25.

Well shoot. Time to pick my urn I guess.

I know it's just people trolling online. And why would I even care? I would never be friends with a man who would say something so stupid and cruel, much less date or have ever dated a guy like that, even when I was under 25. Nothing says red flag to me like insulting other women as a "compliment" to a woman.

And yet. It gets to me sometimes.

We went out to a bar a while back with a bunch of our friends to celebrate my husband's birthday. Our group was mostly 30 somethings and we went to a local bar we go to often.

All of a sudden after days of being bombarded with reading these conversations online I was so self-conscious. I was suddenly hyper aware of how young the girls at this bar were, and the guys for that matter, and I hate that.

I never used to be like that. I was in this scene since I was 19 so I know I hated when people were hyper aware of, or commenting on my age. And it's not who I am. I've been a thirty something for almost 2 full years now and it's not like I even paid that much attention to it before.

But you read enough comments from young boys who are probably still in high school and haven't even passed bio yet passionately explaining what they think happens with collagen production and all of the sudden you start touching your face very gently so as not to create wrinkles.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I don't care about this. I didn't care until I read a barrage of comments saying we all should care.

And I know these conversations aren't even real or in earnest. The men making these points clearly have zero respect for the fact that women are living breathing humans regardless of our age.

Seriously dude, would you tell your mom she has no value and ages like milk?

Maybe you would, and maybe therein lies the problem.

The other piece of this equation though is us, women over 25. We are so pressed about it.

Half the reason I get lost reading these angry little man comments are because so many women are engaging with them and for what?

They aren't going to listen to facts, or logic, and are certainly not going to tap into any kindness, or empathy, or come to the table for a good faith discussion.

Honestly if they had any intention of that they wouldn't be talking in the first place, because let's face it dude, if you aren't my dermatologist or plastic surgeon why does it matter to you if I'm wrinkling?

Mind your business.

The beauty industry in general in many ways, fuels our obsession with youth, and acts like a women's singular reason for existence is to be attractive...until we hit 25 and now are not apparently.

I just never fail to be amazed at how social media can pull me down a rabbit hole on topics that never seemed to matter to me before and stick me in a headspace where it's all I can think about.

I live in NYC. The scene I started running in when I first moved here is an odd one at times. I remember moving here at 18 and meeting so many people who I just assumed had to be in their 20s because they looked young to me and their lifestyle was what I imagined to be that of a twenty something. Then I'd find out they were 40.

And this still happens. Even that night out I mentioned, when I was fretting about how old I felt in comparison to the many young people at the bar, they didn't notice. It was the same old same it is every year, chatting with girls in the bathroom line, random dudes coming up to make small talk while I smile politely and then they ask the occasion for being there and I drop the having a husband and it being his birthday before they scamper away.

The only person in the room who was hyper focused on my age was me.

I don't want to be one of those people who just talks about the evils of social media but some things there can be evil, on a personal level at least, and if you find something that's triggering you or making your quality of life suffer I think a break is in order.

I don't want to be mad at 21 year old girls because they are 21 and I'm not anymore. I pray they also make it to 31 someday. And life will go on. I want to be happy with who I am and where I am while I'm there.

The truth is I wasn't even happy at 21. In my 20s I was living in survival mode. I drank too much, I worked too much, I slept too little, and I picked up a lot of bad habits that followed me off and on all throughout that decade my life.

Before social media told me I shouldn't be, I was happy at 31. I drink more water finally than liquor. I try to be better about work life balance, even if that means living more simply. I sleep plenty and much better because I actually try to maintain a routine when possible. I make time to pursue my creative hobbies. And thanks to better lifestyle habits, I'm in the best shape of my life, with more energy than I had in my 20s.

So maybe, yes I have a new smile line that might not have been there 10 years ago, but is that so bad? Who am I trying to impress? I feel good.

My mom once told me "At my core, I still feel like I did at 17, but I look in the mirror and I don't look 17 anymore." And I guess this gets to the heart of the problem.

Youth is a state of mind. Are you happy? Do you feel good? Do you feel energized? Excited to be alive?

If you can say yes to any of that, count yourself blessed and who cares what you look like externally? Gray hair, wrinkles. True happiness, or even just a state of contentment is a lot harder to achieve than simply the external look of youth.

We all looked young once, but not everyone reaches a true state of satisfaction with their life. So for now instagram is gone. Until I can remind myself what I actually want, what I'm really chasing.

It's not validation from randos online. It's not an external appearance that might convince people I don't know that I'm still in my 20s.

I'm chasing happiness. The kind that comes from within and isn't dictated by age, or the opinions of strangers.