As I sat in my local Cracker Barrel celebrating the 22nd birthday of a close friend, sipping my coffee, several thoughts danced in and out of my mind.
Of course, one of those thoughts was of our conversation at that moment. Musicals - one of her favorite subjects. But not like Grease. Or Annie. (Which are both respectable in their own right.) No, no, we talked about Singing in the Rain and An American in Paris and silent movies and Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly and a black and white time gone by.
Another thought that crossed my mind was that I ordered only one egg beater and one turkey sausage patty for breakfast, because I’m trying to be preventative about heart disease. Yeah. (Sounds healthy, didn’t stop me from having a couple of biscuits. Sorry roomies. Tried. Failed.)
"22" by Taylor Swift played on repeat. That's really not unusual for me. Can’t help it, ya know? My 22nd birthday was borderline miserable, despite one of my best friend’s valiant efforts to make it otherwise. The day was fine (fun, actually) - 22 was not. Quarter-life crisis for real, and I felt it in every way. Graduation was coming, last semester was starting, physiological decline begins, my previous life plans had been ripped out from under me, and 22 was just a hard day. Did I tell my friend this? Of course not! (But it crossed my mind and I prayed that her day would be full of stress-free joy.)
Which then led me to ponder and puzzle over the mere fact that we chose - as a birthday celebration, mind you - not to go out that night to dance and party, but TO MEET FOR BREAKFAST. AT CRACKER BARREL. We chose this. And we met at 8:30. Because we SLEPT IN.
And as I thought about old movies, breakfast dates, Cracker Barrel, my heart health, and my advanced aging for a 22-year-old, I was once again reminded of a promise that I made to a professor and a peer more than a month ago. They encouraged me (over a different cup of coffee) to start a blog. “I can’t,” I said. “What the heck would I even write about?”
A classmate (who is a wonderful writer, has a flourishing blog of her own, and a spunky, down-for-anything disposition) looked at me and said, “You’re a good writer. And blogging is so fun! Just write about what you know. Whatever comes to you. I write about music.” She showed me her calendar with carefully planned ideas and prompts. Nope. No way. “Sarah Beth, you should!” my professor chimed in. Always encouraging, enthusiastic, and practical - “It’s a great resume-builder (wink + nudge) and good experience! Not to mention a stress-reliever.”
“Guys, I have nothing to say.” Not sure if it was another classmate or my professor that said, “Don’t you complain about social media? You always say you’re an elderly person trapped in a millennial's body. Write about that!”
Lightbulb. Ideas came pouring out of my cohort members that were sitting in that coffee shop. I was catching them left and right and jotting down a handful of my own. And then my professor said, “Geezer Millennial. That’s what you’ll call your blog!”
So, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep at 8:30 p.m. (I work early in the morning. It’s not as bad as it sounds), the ideas were swimming in my brain, and now they’re here. Perhaps there will be more to come. Consider this your introduction to a Geezer Millennial.
I’m Sarah Beth, a 1994-born old soul. I hope you whippersnappers can keep up. (And I hope I can stay awake long enough to write another post.)
Of course, one of those thoughts was of our conversation at that moment. Musicals - one of her favorite subjects. But not like Grease. Or Annie. (Which are both respectable in their own right.) No, no, we talked about Singing in the Rain and An American in Paris and silent movies and Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly and a black and white time gone by.
Another thought that crossed my mind was that I ordered only one egg beater and one turkey sausage patty for breakfast, because I’m trying to be preventative about heart disease. Yeah. (Sounds healthy, didn’t stop me from having a couple of biscuits. Sorry roomies. Tried. Failed.)
"22" by Taylor Swift played on repeat. That's really not unusual for me. Can’t help it, ya know? My 22nd birthday was borderline miserable, despite one of my best friend’s valiant efforts to make it otherwise. The day was fine (fun, actually) - 22 was not. Quarter-life crisis for real, and I felt it in every way. Graduation was coming, last semester was starting, physiological decline begins, my previous life plans had been ripped out from under me, and 22 was just a hard day. Did I tell my friend this? Of course not! (But it crossed my mind and I prayed that her day would be full of stress-free joy.)
Which then led me to ponder and puzzle over the mere fact that we chose - as a birthday celebration, mind you - not to go out that night to dance and party, but TO MEET FOR BREAKFAST. AT CRACKER BARREL. We chose this. And we met at 8:30. Because we SLEPT IN.
And as I thought about old movies, breakfast dates, Cracker Barrel, my heart health, and my advanced aging for a 22-year-old, I was once again reminded of a promise that I made to a professor and a peer more than a month ago. They encouraged me (over a different cup of coffee) to start a blog. “I can’t,” I said. “What the heck would I even write about?”
A classmate (who is a wonderful writer, has a flourishing blog of her own, and a spunky, down-for-anything disposition) looked at me and said, “You’re a good writer. And blogging is so fun! Just write about what you know. Whatever comes to you. I write about music.” She showed me her calendar with carefully planned ideas and prompts. Nope. No way. “Sarah Beth, you should!” my professor chimed in. Always encouraging, enthusiastic, and practical - “It’s a great resume-builder (wink + nudge) and good experience! Not to mention a stress-reliever.”
“Guys, I have nothing to say.” Not sure if it was another classmate or my professor that said, “Don’t you complain about social media? You always say you’re an elderly person trapped in a millennial's body. Write about that!”
Lightbulb. Ideas came pouring out of my cohort members that were sitting in that coffee shop. I was catching them left and right and jotting down a handful of my own. And then my professor said, “Geezer Millennial. That’s what you’ll call your blog!”
So, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep at 8:30 p.m. (I work early in the morning. It’s not as bad as it sounds), the ideas were swimming in my brain, and now they’re here. Perhaps there will be more to come. Consider this your introduction to a Geezer Millennial.
I’m Sarah Beth, a 1994-born old soul. I hope you whippersnappers can keep up. (And I hope I can stay awake long enough to write another post.)
This blog is dedicated to Kate and Dr. L. (Can I really call you Abbey?)
