Younger Than You Feel, Older Than You Look: Why Time Feels So Weird Right Now

Living Out of Sync

The other day, someone guessed my age at 32. I laughed. Not because it was flattering — but because I’m turning 40 in September, and inside I still feel like I’m figuring it all out.

But here’s the kicker: some days, I feel 80. Like I’ve lived five lifetimes already. Like the years of survival — deperession, disconnection, burnout — aged me in ways no mirror could capture.

And I’m not alone. According to Jennifer Senior’s brilliant Atlantic piece “The Age in Your Head”, adults over 40 typically perceive themselves as 20% younger than they actually are. She calls this phenomenon "subjective age," and it’s one of the most quietly interesting ideas I’ve come across lately.

The Beauty (and Complexity) of Queer Time

For queer people, especially those whose adolescence was delayed, hidden, or traumatic, this hits differently. We often live on what’s been called "queer time" — a timeline that doesn’t follow conventional milestones. Coming out, recovery, rediscovery, reinvention — these can all arrive later than expected. And so can joy.

In other words: we may be 39 on paper, but emotionally still catching up to 26. Or 22. Or 16.

And that’s okay.

What matters is that we keep becoming. That we embrace the version of ourselves that feels most real — not the one that fits someone else’s timeline.

New Chapter, Same Questions

I’ve been thinking about this a lot since moving back to Sydney. On paper, everything looks settled. I’ve got the job, the house, the life. But in my head, I still feel like I’m rebuilding from scratch. Because, in some ways, I am. New friendships. New habits. New self-worth.

Arthur C. Brooks writes beautifully about how little rituals — like sunlight exposure and movement — support happiness. In his piece “How to Keep on the Sunny Side of Life”, he reminds us that building a good life is about small, daily actions. I’ve clung to that idea recently. Not because I believe happiness is always possible — but because I believe momentum is.

The Weight of What We Carry

There’s another layer here, too — one we don’t often name. For many queer people, ageing is layered with grief. Not just personal loss, but collective grief: the friends we never had, the years we hid, the joy we delayed. Add to that the burnout of pandemic years, the fear that our rights are once again under threat, and it’s no wonder we feel older than we are. We’ve carried more than most. And our bodies know it.

But subjective age gives us a chance to rewrite that story. To say: yes, I’ve carried a lot — but I’m not done growing. I’m not done dreaming. I’m not done starting over.

Permission to Go Slow

And then there’s the idea of slow looking. Julia Baird’s recent ABC piece “Slow Looking Is Your Ticket to Deeper Insights” talks about the value of paying deep, careful attention — to art, to others, to ourselves. It’s a powerful metaphor for midlife. Because it reminds us: if we take time to look, we might see we’re not behind. We’re just seeing clearly for the first time.

You’re Not Running Late

So, if you feel like you’re late to the party — or living in reverse — that’s not failure. That’s freedom.

Subjective age isn’t about denial. It’s about potential. It says: you still have pivots left. You still have time.

And in a world that loves to rush us into milestones, that might be the most healing thing of all.

You’re not running late. You’re right on time.