There comes a point in life where you stop watching videos of people surfing, climbing, or doing parkour and thinking, “Wow, I’d love to try that.” Instead, you start thinking, “That’s a lot of pressure on the knees.”
It’s a subtle shift, really. One day you’re inspired, the next you’re calculating MCL impact. That’s when you know, the delusion of bodily immortality has officially expired.
I used to love walking. Walking was my therapy, my meditation, my end-of-day cleanse. I’d walk an hour home from work just to clear my head. I’d hike on weekends, preferably uphill, because I thought flat surfaces were “too boring.” Now apparently, a flight of stairs feels like a triathlon. My hips protest like unpaid interns, and my knee sends sharp electric reminders that I am, in fact, not 19 anymore. I blame Milano’s metro system for its eternal elevator outages. Truly humbling.
These days, I find myself noticing how most public transportation isn’t exactly designed with people who have mobility issues in mind. And that realization came with a generous serving of karma. I used to be one of those people who didn’t understand why someone young would need a seat. Now, I’m that person: silently praying for an empty one and getting side-eyed by elderly women with grocery bags. I don’t blame them. I don’t look like I need a seat. But I do. And it made me realize how much we never really know what’s going on with someone. Empathy is the ultimate plot twist, apparently.
Having three mobility injuries within one year wasn’t exactly in my 2025 bingo. I was supposed to be in Portugal by now, at surf camp, finally learning how to wave surf. I even bought a balance board to practice. I had dreams. I still have those dreams, they’re just currently benched. And instead I’m trying to find comfortable sleeping positions where neither my knee, hips nor my lower back ache at night.
This year taught me what my 20s never could: that your body is not a YOLO vessel. It’s a living archive of every time you said, “It’ll be fine.” And eventually, it comes to collect.
So yes, this year has been humbling. My ego is in early retirement, my knee is on strike, and my hips have unionized. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe “slowing down” isn’t punishment: it’s the universe forcing me to sit down long enough to finally… focus on my creativity.
And if that means I won’t surf a wave soon but will master the art of sitting gracefully without feeling guilty on the metro, so be it.
Good Feelings Club 