ArcaMax

I'd argue that I'm not a hoarder. My husband would like to contest that. I explained to him that a middle-class life is not complete without a drawer of odds and ends in the kitchen. He said that one drawer sounds plausible, "but," he said, and started to point at more than one drawer around the kitchen that could fit the bill.

However, my laughter was nearly villainous when I pulled out a saved-and-stashed scoop because a new protein shake jug didn't come with one. The fact that I could open a drawer and, tada -- like magic, there it is. It's like I had been preparing for this exact emergency.

Somewhere, the ghost of previous generations was nodding in approval, remembering a coffee can full of miscellaneous screws, a collection of rubber bands, and every twist tie that had ever crossed the threshold of their home.

When millennials have had their lives framed with emergencies like terrorist attacks, recessions, and pandemics, we have been prepping for a lot of things, but maybe not necessarily for all the hallmarks of getting older.

And yet, the lure comes slowly, especially when you realize that some of the things you tried and, shockingly, started to like, fell into the category of Things for Old People.

It was a two-fer realization for me, of mundane things, flossing and a good pillow. What do you mean that flossing is satisfying, and you develop a preference for a wax type? What do you mean that I could put in a dream request for a specific pillow into Google, get a link for an online rehab store, spend nearly 4 times what I typically spend on pillows at the grocery store, and suddenly have the best sleep ever?

And then there's another thing that develops: gratitude.

Not the sweeping, life-changing kind that arrives after major milestones, but the quiet variety that sneaks into ordinary Tuesdays. Gratitude for a body that responds well to stretching, for the money to buy a pillow that lets you wake up without a crick in your neck, for the older couple still holding hands at the grocery store, for seeing an older man riding his bike in a tie-dye shirt without a trace of self-consciousness but with a smile on his face.

The list grows stranger with age. I did a survey with friends this week about what older habits they've developed that surprised them. They said that saying no without guilt was a good one. They cared a little less about what strangers think and a little more about the people who know you best. Sitting on your porch ranked pretty high. Birdwatching, too, even if I'm not there yet.

Perhaps that's the biggest surprise. I spent years assuming getting older meant becoming less interesting, when in reality it often means becoming less performative. The energy that once went into impressing people slowly gets redirected toward taking care of yourself, your relationships, and the life you've already built.

Maybe that's why so many "old people things" eventually make sense. They were never really about getting old. They were about finally recognizing that peace can be found in the ordinary, that preparation isn't pessimism, and that a life well lived is often stitched together by small, satisfying rituals.

For years, I thought getting older meant accumulating limitations. Instead, it has felt like accumulating discernment. I no longer spend nearly as much energy trying to optimize how I'm perceived. That energy gets invested elsewhere: in relationships that have lasted, routines that make me healthier, boundaries that make me calmer, and small habits that quietly improve tomorrow.

It turns out I wasn't watching people become old all those years. I was watching them become wise enough to understand that grand gestures don't sustain life. It's held together by a thousand ordinary acts of care, for our homes, our relationships, our bodies, and our future selves.

And if that means celebrating a perfectly timed protein scoop, buying the expensive pillow, flossing every night, and happily being unavailable for a few hours, then I'm beginning to think old people have a pretty good thing going on.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To learn more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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