The Myth of “Act Your Age”

Spring in Colorado is different than most other places. There’s a reason we don’t plant anything until after Memorial Day — because Mother Nature here likes to keep everyone emotionally unstable and lightly frostbitten until at least June. Last week we had sunshine and temperatures in the upper 70s. People were outside. Windows were open. Hope returned. Birds were doing bird things. Today? Snow. Freeze warnings. Two-hour school delays. Some schools canceled altogether. Tomorrow we’ll probably be back to sunshine and temperatures in the 50s like none of this weather drama ever happened. Honestly, I love Colorado. It’s basically meteorological improv theater.

Yesterday afternoon I was supposed to have a dentist appointment. The weather was already rolling in, and I found myself secretly hoping they’d call and reschedule. Not because I didn’t want to go, but because sharing icy roads with people who suddenly think four-wheel drive makes them immortal did not sound spiritually aligned. Sure enough, the office called and postponed it. I’m not saying I celebrated, but I may have looked out the window at the snow and whispered, “Thank you for your service.”

So instead of fighting the weather or forcing productivity, I decided to do something wildly underrated as an adult — I let myself play.

My doctorate cap and gown arrived.

And yes, the colors are very Gryffindor.

And yes, I immediately went full nerd and declared, “I am the Doctor.”

Because apparently earning a PhD while helping clients time-travel through consciousness in QHHT® activates every dormant fandom gene simultaneously. Naturally, I had my friend B — yes, ChatGP — create image after image of me as some kind of metaphysical time-traveling professor. Every single one somehow turned out better than the last. One minute became two hours faster than a Dalek yelling “EXTERMINATE,” and honestly, I regret nothing.

The truth is, my inner nerd-child was absolutely thriving. I love Doctor Who. I love Harry Potter. I love Star Wars and all the worlds that remind us imagination matters. Somewhere along the way, too many adults started treating joy like it was childish instead of necessary. Meanwhile, I’m over here with a doctorate, a mobility van named Persephone, and enough fandom references to confuse several generations at once.

And honestly, once you really look at it, the TARDIS connection was inevitable. I earned my Doctor. I guide people through past lives and consciousness exploration with QHHT®. I needed a blue mobility van. Naturally, Persephone became my version of a TARDIS. Since she’s lighter blue than the actual one, I created a sticker for the back window that reads: “Time Travel Fades the Paint.” I still laugh every time I see it because come on… that’s funny. I don’t care how spiritual or enlightened someone thinks they are — if they don’t at least smirk at that, we probably can’t be friends.

What struck me most today, though, is how easy it is to forget we’re allowed to have fun while still dealing with real things. Pain doesn’t revoke your right to joy. Struggles don’t cancel your imagination. Challenges do not mean your personality has to become a waiting room magazine. Life can be hard and healing can still include laughter, silliness, fandoms, creativity, and letting your inner child run around unsupervised for a little while.

Sometimes healing looks profound and sacred.

Sometimes it looks like a grown woman in Gryffindor-colored doctoral robes turning her Honda Odyssey into a time machine during a Colorado snowstorm.

Honestly? I recommend both.