age is not a barrier
words + thoughts off the (social media) grid
Hi! This space is for sharing off the social media grid. I don’t want these thoughts, ponderings, doodles, photos, and words to only exist within the constraints of a platform with an algorithm that requires me to consider my thoughts and musings as “content” deemed worthy to share.
I want to talk about so many things: sobriety, broken hearts, living in NYC, quitting work, starting work, quitting art, starting art, friendships, Iceland, financial guilt… but I am still processing so many of those things and feel that flippant posts on Instagram are too short-lived. Long-form will always reach more people, and allow me to better see the person I was while writing these words than a character-limited Instagram post ever will.
Stay tuned. If you like the words I share, pass them on.
xoxo
Tiffiny
www.tiffinycostello.com | instagram.com/tiffinyasalways
Freshly aged 36 years, I find myself in a new situation.
Well, new-ish, I guess. I am now starting to notice it more often because my insecurity around it screams all the time now: I’m often the oldest or one of the oldest people -
in the room
in groups of people
in my neighborhood
in coffee shops
To those who are older, dismissive, and probably scoffing as you read this: don’t worry. This is my insecurity. Mine! You don’t have to worry about it at all. I’ve got it - trust me.
To those who are younger: I’m actually not sure what you think about people in the generation ahead of you. You all seem to be in a very special place, and I actually admire you all. You are growing up with so much for social wisdom than I did, and all seem more mature than I was at your age / am now. So, please, carry on.
To those who GET IT: I am with you, and you are with me.
You are in your 30s, or 20s, or 40s, or wherever! You are sensitive about your age. The decade you were born in is the same decade you sigh at each time you type your birthday into something you’re signing up for on the internet. You are now in a new age bracket in all those drop-down menus. And you notice it. Every time. All the time.
What seems to be true: you can be any age and be acutely aware and existentially annoyed that you haven’t done everything or anything you thought you would have by then. But it isn’t really the age that is the problem, the age is just a reminder that there is just…not enough time, and the time we do have moves too fast.
I have been in NYC since April, just over six months now.
I have always wanted to be here. I love the deep pockets of history (and hidden history). I love theatre. Hell, even the smell I am fond of, in a weird way. I romanticize the era of Warhol and was sad when I walked by the original Factory address - now a condo. I loved that one Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, and secretly-not-so-secretly hope I run into them.
I have wanted to live here before I ever visited for the first time in 2007. I tried to make a move from Dallas, Texas to NYC happen, but I could not afford it, and was also entering the beginning of what I’ll call the ‘Epoch of Chaos’ in my life: drinking, drugs, partying, getting arrested, dropping out of college — a wholly lost human with busy hands and a busy mind that grabbed at anything to avoid sitting in the silence and quiet of my true self.
Now, over 4 years sober, I stay busy with a sometimes annoying, rotating stack of hobbies, creative projects, and a strong work ethic some may call ‘workaholism’.
It’s taken me a long time to get my shit together, and that weighs heavy on me, especially within the insecurity I have with my increasing age. It is actually one of the main reasons I panic about getting older, knowing that it took me about 10 years to cycle through my disruptive wandering. And YES I know I had to go through those years to become who I am now, and blah blah, but I still haven’t worked through it all in my head to find a place of peace. So I still feel shame and guilt.
With fresh grief after a breakup preceding shattering job loss from the pandemic, my purpose, place, and foundation in Seattle were now in question. But, lo - one silent night during pandemic-induced insomnia, I got a “wyd” text from New York City.
TLDW (too long, didn’t write): I packed up and moved and after a whirlwind of obstacles and apartment drama, I finally started to settle in my West Village apartment, complete with a shower in the kitchen.
I finally felt settled enough to start figuring out what my goals here were to be. But I already knew them; I only needed to shake them awake and dust them off, to tell them “we are finally here. We are finally in New York City!”
So, of course, along with the goals arrived my fears, insecurities, excuses, not-enoughness, and everything that logically spells out why I should not even attempt taking any of the steps or doing any of the work required to achieve the goals I have.
The goals I have had my entire life.
The goals that have kept me here on the earth.
The goals that lifted their sleepy heads to yawp, “WAIT I’M NOT DONE YET,” when the pandemic took hope away from me; from us all. We got crystal clear on what our regrets would be if the pandemic lockdowns ended our ability to freely pursue our passions.
We learned that we don’t deserve to put up with mundane abusive jobs: so we quit those when the lockdowns lifted and life started moving again.
We let ourselves fall in love.
We let ourselves out of love.
We broke up with people.
We got closer to people.
We adopted puppies.
We looked at another human in the street during the darkness and exchanged desperate but supportive glances. There was even a fraction of a second when humanity felt whole. We were all in this together because for once, the pandemic leveled everything out and it was us against it.
I am actively working on forgiving myself for not getting my shit together sooner in life, and taking steps to heal the shame and guilt that linger from that.
I’m four years sober for a reason. I move at light speed and put 110% into the things I do, including drinking/partying, which doesn’t work for me, if I want to stay alive and stay well, which I need to do to accomplish the goals and dreams I have.
As I write this ending, I feel like I need to have some kind of resolution or epilogue about the insecurity I feel with my age, but I don’t, really. I am still living those insecurities, daily. I think I probably will continue, for a while. But I know these words wanted out, so I’m letting them fall onto the page, so others who feel the same can feel comfort.
With all the new things I am trying, and the steps I am taking towards where I’d like to be, I am trying to just dive in head-first, without thinking, right before the next moment, when I START thinking, then over-thinking…the tiny in-between is where I find the strength to push forward.
Sometimes, this feels like part of me doesn’t exist in my body when I am walking to a tap dancing class or another opportunity that will bring me one step closer to where I’m trying to go, because she’s scared of failing and she will blame it on age. There is always another part, that also exists outside of my body, and she drags us all (us = me) to the damn tap-dancing class. Showing up is all we have to do. And then, once we start moving, we sync up, light up, and I am THERE and I LOVE it.
Because I AM SUPPOSED TO BE THERE, DOING THIS THING AND I AM 36 YEARS OLD AND IT IS GOING TO BE FINE.