Better with Age (But Definitely Not My Knees)

What do you think gets better with age?

You know what gets better with age? Some stuff. Not everything—let’s get that out of the way first. Knees? Garbage. My back? Sounds like a bowl of Rice Krispies every morning. My ability to sleep through the night without getting up to pee? That ship sailed around 45.

But certain things? Yeah, they actually improve. Shocking, I know.

First off—my taste in people. I used to waste time on human versions of expired milk. Now? I’ve got a radar that can detect BS from three counties away. If someone’s bringing drama, fake smiles, or weird MLM pitches, I’m out faster than a Domino’s driver with a hot pie and no tip. I keep my circle small, real, and dog-approved.

Coffee. That’s another one. My appreciation for a good cup of coffee has evolved from “does it have caffeine?” to “is this dark roast, single-origin magic with subtle notes of ‘don’t talk to me until this cup is empty’?” I’ve turned into one of those people who genuinely tastes coffee instead of just inhaling it out of survival.

Silence. Holy hell, silence is underrated. When I was younger, I needed music, TV, chaos—something always going on. Now? I’ll sit in total silence with my dogs, a cold drink, and the soft hum of “not talking to anyone,” and it’s glorious.

Self-respect. I don’t have time for impressing people I don’t like. I wear what I want, I say what I mean (probably too much), and I don’t pretend to care about stuff that doesn’t matter. I’ve hit that sweet spot where I’m too old to be fake and too tired to deal with nonsense.

My dogs. Technically, they aren’t what gets better with my age, but my bond with them does. I’ve learned to understand them better, appreciate their little quirks, and prioritize time with them over time with most humans. Honestly, they’re my favorite people.

And finally—my give-a-damn meter. It’s basically broken now, and I love it. You want to judge me for skipping a family event to sit in the woods with a Saint Bernard and a GPS? Good. Stay mad. I’ll be over here geocaching in peace.

So yeah, some stuff gets better with age. Me, kind of. Life, if you know how to filter out the stupid. And bacon. Always bacon. Even if some lunatic spells it “bakon.” (Looking at you, Mike.)

Here’s to aging like a fine whiskey—or at least a well-worn hoodie that still smells like campfire and freedom.