When Late Night Thoughts are Bourne

WHEN LATE NIGHT THOUGHTS ARE BOURNE FREDDIE BOURNE With

THE AGE WHEN PEOPLE BEGIN NOT TO CARE

As I type out this monthly rambling that Sir Thomas Ellis has to sift through before putting it to print, I am just days away from celebrating the awkward milestone of 30 years old - or, for my fellow anti-optimists, the age when people begin not to care.

While I am thankful that I have been able to cross over to the other side of ages 18, 21 and the cursed 27 Club, 30 does come off as an odd time, especially because my mental state has been stuck in my mid-20s for awhile now.

The best way I can describe this unwieldy vibe is that I took a pause from enjoying my early 20s after experiencing loss (don’t worry, we won’t dive in - you got enough therapy talk last issue). Because I was essentially a hermit, my financial maturity finally came into play simply because I wasn’t really going out by choice and, at the time, my strong dislike of being in public settings and food that was fried (though not notated on the menu) kept me more at home.

By the time some of that fog cleared up and I started to live independently once again (Adulthood, take two), I was 26 living out my 22-year-old fantasies - playing music, staying out in New York City until 4 a.m., experiencing one-night stands, crying after said one-night stands due to guilt and spending loads of cash on unnecessary crap while paying for graduate school all out of pocket. I mean, my friends on social media were doing it. Why shouldn’t I?

Sure enough, some can tell that I figured it out - what “it” is. But, that’s far from the truth. In my head, I still feel like I’m catching up on that lost time while the only thing I’m losing is my money and the focus on the present.

I’m at the point in my life where if I do something wrong, falling back on the excuse of youth will no longer fly.

I’ve admitted that I’ve been stalled between the bargaining and anger phrase in grief while the rest of myself is simply stuck in the youth that I’m too afraid to let go of in many facets.

It sounds like a great idea to drive seven hours away to a five pound cereal eating contest in Ohio, but it’s probably more sensible to pay my car insurance on the 17th of the month.

Cereal money ain’t gonna pay for a broken down vehicle.

The reality is I’m afraid of letting go - letting go of what did not happen, what I wish did happen and what I wish I could have done differently.

But that’s not how the world works. And neither should I.

"30 DOES COME OFF AS AN ODD TIME, ESPECIALLY BECAUSE MY MENTAL STATE HAS BEEN STUCK IN MY MID-20S FOR AWHILE NOW."

PHOTO: EMILY PELSTON