Swallow the Anchor
They say 50 is the new 40. Similarly, 40 is apparently the new 30. But 30 will always be 30. Say what you will, but even the encroaching specter of one’s fourth decade elicits feelings of nostalgia for years that, if memory serves, weren’t even that great the first time around. If 20-year-old you looked in the mirror, they wouldn’t recognize the sunken, schulbby visage staring longingly back, yet the reflection hasn’t quite amassed the earning potential to apply a Mercedes or condominium to the abscess of aging. So what does one do when faced with the exodus of relative youth and the sudden arrival of absolute, unadulterated adulthood? Swallow the anchor.
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