The Myth of Being “Done” (and Why I Don't Buy It)

Because life doesn’t come with an expiration date, no matter what society tells you

Expiration Date – Rendered by the author in Midjourney

By now, we're all pretty familiar with the unspoken cultural norm that says once you reach a certain age, life quietly rolls down the shutters on you, whether you're ready or not. The fun is supposed to be over. You’re no longer “the target demographic,” no longer the shiny thing in the spotlight. If life were a high school cafeteria, you’ve basically been quietly reassigned to the side table with the wilted salad at that point.

Naturally, no one really says any of this out loud (except when they do). It’s more in the way advertising pivots away from you, in the roles women are offered in movies, in the slightly pitying tone people use when they say things like, “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about all that anymore.” The underlying meaning is that your days of being alive-alive are over, so please enjoy your new hobbies — couponing, knitting, and hoping for grandkids.

Well, I'm here to tell that that’s nonsense.

The Myth of Being "Done"

If you’re a woman, especially, you’ve probably already felt it, even if you're still young. It's like someone stamps this social expiration date across your forehead at some point in your 30s or 40s. By then, apparently, your best hair days are behind you, your skin is now public property for retinol marketing campaigns, and if you still want to feel attractive or adventurous? Well, that’s honestly seen as kind of sad.

But here’s the thing that I've personally noticed. The desire to feel beautiful or alive doesn't necessarily go away. Society just keeps telling you it should. Like, “Thanks for playing, we’ll take it from here. Go sit down.” And it’s maddening.

It's also problematic because we eventually start to absorb those messages and believe them. Even people who don’t consciously subscribe to the idea that fun, beauty, and vitality are youth-only clubs can still feel it creeping in. Even people like me, who've never really valued social norms or cared about meeting them. That gnawing little whisper inside: 

"Maybe it really is over. Maybe I’ve already had my shot at life."

But then something happens.

The Surprise of Aliveness

For me, that "something" often comes unexpectedly. I’ll be listening to a new song, and suddenly I’m tearing up, not because I’m sad, but because something in me just lit up the way it used to when I'd hear amazing music as a teenager. Or I’ll catch myself noticing the sun on my skin or the smell of the ocean on the wind, and realize I feel twenty years younger for no apparent reason.

Sometimes it’s more subtle. I’ll look in the mirror, expecting to finally see a tired old lady face staring back at me, and instead I notice that I actually look… good today. (Not “good for my age.” Just good.) Or I’ll be putting on a favorite perfume and suddenly feel like I’ve slipped into a secret identity — someone vibrant, magnetic, still in it.

These are the moments that creep in on little cat feet when I least expect them. The moments when I actually hear life whispering, "Yeah, you're not done. Not yet. In fact, you're not even close yet." Sometimes those moments disorient me, but I love them just the same. 

The Confusion of Still Feeling Alive

When you’re younger, it’s simply expected of you that you’ll feel lustful, hopeful, artistic, alive. You’re “supposed” to glow and to want things. It's part of what people admire and envy about the young. But when you’re older, those same impulses sometimes feel almost… transgressive. Like you’re breaking some unspoken law.

I catch myself wondering whether I'm still "allowed" to want to feel beautiful or get little jolts of random joy that make me laugh out loud. Am I supposed to still feel like there's still so much I haven't done yet (and want to do)?

Obviously, the answer is yes, because last time I checked, the joy police weren't actually a thing. But the fact that the question even arises shows how deep the programming can run, even if you're fairly allergic to programming in general.

The Secret Spark

Last night, I had a dream where I spent an evening outside of time and space, hopping between different places and situations — bars, clubs, conversations, music. It was like something out of some '90s movie I loved, like Reality Bites or Singles. I don’t actually enjoy those things much in waking life, as I’ve never been a bar scene person, but that wasn't the point of the dream. It was about how I felt in the moment. Alive, connected, hopeful, open.

When I woke up, I realized that was probably the whole point — that I still sometimes crave that spark. And sometimes it finds me in ways larger society tends to overlook. Art, music, even just laughing with my partner at something dumb. The “night out” doesn’t have to be literal. It’s simply a metaphor for vitality you can reintegrate into your routine at any time.

Permission to Be Alive

So I suppose this is the takeaway, if there is one. Feeling alive isn’t something anyone truly ages out of. It isn’t reserved for the young, and the narcs don't show up at your door to revoke it the minute you hit a birthday that makes you uncomfortable.

The spark might look different as you get older — probably less about reckless all-nighters and more about reclaiming joy in music, art, beauty, or nature — but it’s still very much there. It's up to you whether you let the world convince you that it’s unbecoming or that you need to downplay it.

You’re Allowed to Be Alive 

Even fully, shamelessly alive.

So, if you’ve ever caught yourself thinking life is “over” or that your moment has passed, I’d gently suggest you check again. It’s not gone at all. It’s just waiting for you to discover it again in strange, surprising places. Sometimes in your dreams. Sometimes in a song you haven’t heard in twenty years. Sometimes in the way the morning sun spills through your window at just the right angle.

Because the world may want to write you off after a certain point, but your body and spirit aren’t interested in that memo. They’re still wired for wonder and beauty. They’re still wired for life.

And honestly? That’s a relief. Because it means we’re not expired milk rotting in aging cartons after all. We’re all just people, still here, still burning, and still doing the best we can each day.