Handle With Care: The Oddities of Getting Older

And why I'm not entirely mad at it...

grace and frankie making their infamous yam cream (iykyk)

Getting older is weird. One minute you’re gossiping about crushes, the next you’re comparing magnesium supplements and debating whether three liters of water a day is “ambitious” or “bare minimum” (and I’m still short by one).

Gone are the days of planning boozy brunches and the weekly GNO with 1942. Now it’s about month-long alcohol detoxes because their beloved 5 o’clock cocktail is just a hangover and bad sleep disguised as fun-ish. These days, charcoal smoothies served in margarita glasses and almond flour, avocado oil tortilla chips with guac are the new happy hour.

My eyes are strained from the moment I open them to the moment I shut them. Distance vision is deteriorating, near vision is rebelling, and thanks to my aging lenses, I now require three separate prescriptions. One for TV (my eagle-hawk mode), one for working and pretending to be social, and no correction for phone scrolling and reading because I’m not at “readers age”… yet.

We once said we’d “sleep when we’re dead,” and now it’s a nightly obsession. We compare sleep scores like they’re 401k statements. “Deep sleep under two hours? Are you dead inside? But also, let me tell you about my latest sleep supplement….”

Getting older requires preparation, and I’m not talking about the fundamentals: flossing, mammograms, and the addition of retinol (not me, ofc; I’ve been using this OG ingredient since my teenage years). I’m referring to after-dinner walks for lymph drainage and debloating, a supplement stack that has my doctor saying “wow,” and, my absolute (least) favorite, weight training because these muscles won’t last beyond fifty (just ask Jane Fonda).

Don’t even get me started on hormones. Why aren’t I hitting my sleep fitness goal? Why do I want to punch the barista at the coffee shop when he misspells my name? Why am I exhausted all day and then wired at ten pm? Why am I still breaking out? Perimenopause is the culprit—and she ain’t kind.

Aging isn’t sudden—you don’t wake up one morning and think: damn, my limbs are stiff and my metabolism has disappeared. No, aging comes on slowly: a heavier period here, more frequent brain farts there. Thinning hair and thinning skin. Bloat and indigestion. A shoulder ache from sleeping on your side. A cough that lingers because your immune system doesn’t bounce back like it used to.

So you slowly accumulate the rituals of someone older and you think: okay, this is middle age. Earlier bedtimes, healthier diet, the addition of nootropics, less alcohol, more protein, more frequent root touchups (because those greys love to linger on the hairline), cognition-enhancing games… it’s all just part of the new routine. Achieving that glow-up now requires a glow-down period of constant rest and relaxation. And these are hardly the disco naps of our twenties that left us reinvigorated on four hours of sleep and three venti double espressos.

In our twenties, we threw caution to the wind; we were fueled by adrenaline and vibes. Our thirties were about going wherever life blew us, and our forties are for figuring out how to stay upright in the damn wind. This decade is giving recalibration: copious self-maintenance required to keep running smoothly into the next decade and beyond.

The after-dinner walks, the magnesium, the protein obsession are all part of future-proofing. An investment in the latter years. There’s nothing fragile about a strict self-care regimen. Handle with care is the foundation of anything built to last. And somewhere along the way, the self-care that used to feel “extra” becomes essential. Staying home no longer brings on FOMO. The same people who used to mock the homebody now dream of an early night, a sleep routine, and the joy of pure melatonin. We’ve become aspirational.

The tables turn, the jokes flip, and honestly, I’m cool being the punchline. Because if aging means better boundaries, smarter choices, and full permission to prioritize myself (and my sleep!)… I’ll take the deluxe human experience, fully loaded, tyvm. After all, this rigorous upkeep is bound to make our latter years more premium. Because a vintage car, when well cared for, is worth far more than a new model.

Don’t gatekeep. Drop your holy grail anti-aging hacks in the comments below.

My full supplement stack’s coming next week for paid subscribers.