Who decides what cool is?
I have a theory that the reason our culture is so obsessed with coolness is that we are obsessed with youth. We no longer reverence maturity and complexity.
There was a time when we viewed age and maturity as virtues. Today, I see pastors who are in their fifties trying desperately to be hip – to wear cool clothes, to sport the faux hawk, to be cool.
Perhaps I am strange, but the more gray hair I get, the more excited I get. Gray hair means experience. It means I am living and seeing the world. It means I am dealing with the stresses of life and hopefully growing into the role of an elder and leaving behind the foolishness of youth.
When did it become wrong to be old? When did we start being embarrassed that we don’t get the music our kids or students listen to? When did we start bemoaning age as if it means we are no longer effective?
At 25 years old, I told my friends that I could not wait until I was 50. I celebrated my 30th birthday as an awesome milestone on my way to maturity. I like the fact that grocery store clerks don’t card me. Is it really that strange?
This is just another reason why I am not cool. There’s nothing in me that longs to be young. Do I wish my body could take punishment like it used to? Sure. But I wouldn’t trade the experience of age for the limberness of youth.