I've Outgrown It

With a preschooler at home, I’m pretty in touch with the concept of outgrowing stuff – clothes, toys, activities –but I tend to think of the whole phenomenon as a kid thing.  Just lately, however, I hit upon some things I’ve outgrown, (other than a major chunk of my wardrobe thanks to the feeding frenzy known as the holidays).  While unexpected, (okay, not totally -- I expected the weight gain, and, frankly, I earned every pound), not all the discoveries horrified me. 

For example, apparently I’ve outgrown hangovers.  My reign as Queen of the Happy Hour ended when I traded a steady paycheck for a writing career, but, to be honest, I still drink as much as I ever did.  Strangely, I don’t get hung-over anymore.  I was pretty stoked about this until I mentioned it to Hubs and he replied, “Wow.  Do you think your liver has simply given up?”  Uh…not my first thought, no.  But now, I guess I better look into that.

Also, I’ve outgrown gossip magazines.  I joke about reading them, and I’m not saying you won’t catch me leafing through US Weekly at the Hepatologist’s office, but the publications aren’t finding their way into my grocery cart these days. I’m not sure why, but my world no longer revolves around burning questions like, “Who Wore It Best?”  If I had to point a finger, I’d say the Kardashians killed my interest.

One last epiphany did kind of…well…not horrify me, but it startled me.  I’ve outgrown “Sex in the City.”  During the original run of the series on HBO, I tuned in pretty regularly to follow the adventures of Carrie and team as they ate, shopped, clubbed and f*#&ed their way through Manhattan.  Their crazy lives fascinated me.  The writing seemed so edgy, and smart and, darn-it, funny.  But recently I caught a handful of episodes during a late night marathon on TBS and, I’m ashamed to admit, they bored me.  I can’t blame my reaction on the fact that they were re-runs, because I hadn’t seen these particular episodes before.  I just …I don’t know…couldn’t relate to the characters.  Instead of interesting and zany, they struck me as selfish and shrill.  Annoyance replaced amusement.  Even Carrie’s endless wardrobe, which, once upon a time, was reason enough for me to tune in, seemed silly and desperate.

Maybe the series hasn’t aged well, (it originally ran from 1998 to 2004, so even the latest episodes are closing in on ten years old), or maybe I haven’t, but we have nothing in common anymore.   I’m sad to say, I’ve outgrown it. 

Then again, if I use little guy’s development as an indicator, outgrowing something means growing into something else.  Maybe the big picture here is that if you’re living, you’re growing, and some things are inevitably going to fall by the wayside during the process.  Or maybe the powers that be are trying to tell me I need to spend less time nursing hangovers, pouring over celebrity gossip, or sitting in front of the TV, and more time writing my own edgy, sexy, funny characters. 

I’ll let you know when I grow up and figure it out.  Did you outgrow anything this past year?  Share your evolution!