Maybe

My wife and I went to lunch today. We went to this little place that serves Asian Burritos. Choice of wrap or bowl, choice of meat, veggies, you know the drill.  Its really good. My step-daughter called while we were eating. I was taking her out later so I asked if she wanted anything. She ended up ordering almost the exact same thing I had gotten. I commented to the wife that Uh-oh I may be turning into an aging hipster because our hipster kid and I ordered the same thing. She looks at me seriously and says:

You've always been a hipster...

Whaaaaat?

Yep, she says. Flannel shirt. Jeans. Plastic black glasses. Recycling. Alternate style music. etc. etc. etc...

And now since I am getting older I am more and more embracing these traits I've always leaned towards. It was quite shocking. Who knew, right?

But it hits me that maybe, just maybe she was right. After all, I did eat at a little out of the way Asian Burrito place. And then took my hipster kid shopping with me for running shoes. (We both bought some). And the main topic of our conversation was the tattoo I had picked out and her friends and where they got theirs and would she please hook me up with a good artist she might know? 

I always claimed I was born a bit early. That I felt like I would have been right at home On The Road with Kerouac. Drinking rum in my beret and listening to jazz music. Yeah, the Beatnik generation maybe never really died. They just kind of faded out for a while and have reappeared as what they call hipsters now. 

And now I sell soap and deodorant with no aluminum. Whole food vitamins and dispense ideas on juicing and making kombucha.  And I run in my new running shoes and cut grass in my old ones and I wait for a text on who I am getting my next tat from.

Sometimes, even a lot of the time, life is good, man. I am okay with being called an aging hipster. I think I am anyways. I'm not really into labels.