I’m paraphrasing here, but it basically went like this: when you’re young, you hear your favourite jams on the radio.
In your later teens and early 20s, you start to hear your tunes at the club.
A bit older still, and you’ll hear them either at a bar or a restaurant.
And, when you finally cross that bridge where you’re definitely not young anymore, you hear your jams at the grocery store.
Well, that just became real for me.
I was walking in the aisle at our local Save-On and heard the blissful sounds of Will Smith’s Men In Black. Or at least I thought I did.
That song had been played so many times on the radio when I was a kid it had permanently embedded itself into my psyche.
I remember a birthday party where all the kids gathered around the TV and watched the film the second it came out on video — as in VHS.
Man, those were good days. So I couldn’t help but grin when I heard the sweet, sweet sounds of Big Willie’s voice.
But that nice bit of nostalgia quickly soured when I realized what this meant. It meant that I could no longer call myself young.
Released in 1997, Will Smith’s seminal masterpiece now clocks in at 24 years old. Ew.
This phenomenon was repeated again at Independent when I heard Ricky Martin’s
Livin’ la Vida Loca blaring from the speakers as I searched for club soda.
A brief smile crossed my face. Then a frown.
The grocery store is playing my jams.
Then it happened again another time when I heard Save On playing Royals, by Lorde.
Oh, come on! That song isn’t even that old!
But I guess that’s what every older person says.
Fading youth is a tricky business in Squamish, where it feels like much of the population is still in Peter Pan mode.
Most of our flagship activities — mountain biking, running, climbing, hiking, skiing, kiteboarding — have stereotypically been the domain of super-fit younger folks.
But, thankfully, they are also not as time-sensitive as other ‘young person’ things.
For example, there are no words to describe the sorrow of being the sole 30something at a club filled with 19 to 24-year-olds. Or the awkwardness of being at a concert where everyone starts moshing and you realize you’re in the ‘this will hurt too much tomorrow’ category and slowly sneak to the back of the crowd.
I guess I’m thankful that sending the Chief is still cool at any age.
