When did I get so...old?

This exact question crossed my mind last summer.  I had attended a concert the night before, a week night, that ended at - get this - midnight.  (It was a Father John Misty show, for any music nerd out there who's curious).  And as awesome as the show was, I was exhausted.  I mean, midnight?!  Why can't concerts start at a reasonable hour, like 7, and finish at 9:30 or 10?  Much more appropriate for a Tuesday, if you ask me.

This wasn't the first time that kind of thought crossed my mind, and a similar one came over my radar a few weeks ago.  I was talking to Caitlin, my roommate, about weekend plans, and I literally said, "It's fine if we don't stay out late.  I like getting up early on the weekends."  Then I draped an afghan over my shoulders, turned the thermostat up to 85, and shuffled to bed so I could rest my weary hips.

Ok, so maybe I'm not quite there.  Yet.  But I've definitely noticed a switch, something that's shifted in my brain sometime in the last few years - say, maybe around the time I turned 25.  A quarter of a century, as my grandfather lovingly told my sister when she turned 25 (a much appreciated observance, I'm sure).  Friday nights now more often than not are spent on the couch, watching Netflix and eating pizza.  Bars until 2 a.m.?!  Hardly.  What do you think I am - 21?  Geez, I haven't done that since gauchos tried to make a comeback (dark days, my friends.  Dark days).  Now, 2 glasses of wine and I'm down for the count, with the promise of a headache the next morning.

Now any 24 year-old reading this, don't panic - I don't think turning 25 means you're on the precipice of the death of your social life (ah, is that the sun setting?  Time for me to turn in, children).  The thing is, I don't think this is really about turning 25 or 26, although I can't deny that getting older probably plays a part.

It's weird because I can't pinpoint the exact moment when this change started to occur.  I do know that when I first moved to Austin, my mentality was very "go, go, go."  I felt like I had to take it all in, to see everything, as if it were all going to evaporate or fade into the sidewalk.  Nothing felt permanent; it all felt temporary, and I didn't want to miss a beat.

But somewhere along the way, I started to realize that maybe this whole Austin ride is going to last longer than I thought.  I can't believe it's already been two and a half years.  And here I am, ready to sign my lease for another year.

In the past, everything has been so transient.  My life has always been on a specified timeline:  high school for 4 years, college for 4 years,  a semester in Washington, DC that lasted 4 months (lotta 4's here...).  Each new experience has had some kind of finite ending; now that I don't have that, I don't really know how to handle it.  And my body starts to get restless and feels like it's time to go, to move on to the next thing.  Even if it's not.  Even if I don't want to.

And that's the point:  I don't have to.  There is no specified ending to this chapter.  I'm just kind of writing it as I go along, and seeing where it takes me.

So maybe I don't have to suffocate myself with this city.  I don't have to breathe it in 24/7.  I mean, I definitely want to make the most out of this experience.  And I want to see as much of Austin as I can.  But it's ok to sit back and just be for a little while.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go catch the latest episode of 60 Minutes.  I would just record it, but those darn VHS tapes are so hard to find these days...