why forgetting your age feels right at 28
Losing Track of Age While Turning 28: The Confusing Beauty of Growing Up
Your calendar notification sends you a reminder:
Your birthday is coming up next week!
You ask yourself:
Wow, is it already that time?
How old am I turning? Is it 27, 28 or 29?
Wait, let me do some quick math:
I was born in 1997, so add 3 years and you’re at the year 2000. Then add 25 more years and you’ll be at 2025, which makes a total of 25 + 3. That’s 28.
I’m turning 28.
This was my thought process after seeing that notification. It’s interesting because it actually took me a few extra milliseconds to figure out how old I was turning. That was strange, because I can definitely remember always knowing how old I would be when I was younger. If someone asked my age, I would be able to respond in the blink of an eye. Nowadays, I have to use basic math to make sure I count the right age.
But why is that the case? Why and when did I lose track of my age? Is it because I don’t care that much anymore? Because 28 feels exactly the same as 27, 26, or 25?
365 days ≠ 365 days
Every birthday is 365 days apart from the next, which is enough time to figure out how old you’ll be—but my assumption is that, as the years go by, you develop a feeling that the days until you get older seem to become less. You start to slowly forget about it, and it must be because of two things:
The older you get → the less you celebrate it → the less relevant you feel your birthday becomes.
The older you get → the faster life passes by → the less relevant you feel your birthday becomes.
Looking back, I was never the type to really celebrate my birthday. That was because, I was ashamed of my heritage at a young age—having a spirited Middle Eastern family that was loud and feisty by default (which I now see as a beautiful thing)—and limited financial resources (aka being poor).
I remember how I would envision my birthday party and compare it with parties I had already attended, which included a big garden, neighbors coming by, everyone getting drunk (with me being the only one sober), followed by lots of teenage drama. I knew I could never host a remotely similar fête—especially since alcohol was central to these gatherings and strictly against the way I was raised. To be fair, I also didn’t want to challenge that in the first place (although the teenage drama might have been exciting).
And so, with time, your birthday is celebrated only in small family circles that are slowly shrinking (remember—you’re not the only one getting older every year). The older you grow, the faster you age, and the easier it gets to forget how old you’re turning. That’s because you used to tie your birthday to specific events at the time, which made it easier to remember your age. It’s easy to name a few of these events, as they feel like they weren’t too long ago, such as:
When I turned 16, I had my first (and last :-)) girlfriend—we were only a “couple” for a few months after my birthday in 2013.
When I turned 19, I moved out of my parents’ home in 2016 to start university in a different city shortly after.
When I turned 24, I finished my bachelor’s degree and moved back to my parents’ in 2021.
But then, suddenly, after everyone celebrated New Year’s Eve to start off 2022—after turning 24, after starting to work seriously—it felt like the last 3½ years up until now have passed by in half the amount of time. It feels like the settings of time changed, and everything flies by so fast that it feels normal to forget the age you’re becoming.
the milestone effect
It’s likely because of what I call the “Milestone Effect”. I encountered this effect when life became “stale” for me. That was after I finished my path of education and I believe it hits everyone once you finish the overall path you’ve been sent upon. Since with these you always had milestones to achieve and aim for: graduating from elementary to high school, to college, and then going off to university. And on top of that you’re also growing and meeting different people from different backgrounds in-between, which makes it all so much more effective.
But after you become a fully autonomous adult who needs to self-sustain and pay your own bills, your mind starts to depreciate dates and events that don’t seem to contribute to that bigger goal of independence.
So the date of your birth becomes a shadow unless an event you deem significant enough casts it into the light of your memory. That’s when you know how old you are again. But you shouldn’t rely on these, since adult life demands much more effort to reach such a significant milestone.
So it’s okay if years go by and you lose count of your age. One year, you’ll know it again—right before you start forgetting it once more.