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It has recently come to my attention that I am no longer young. No one is more shocked by this information than me, as I have the energy, vibrance, unfunny ironic t-shirts, and credit score of a woman half my age. But it’s true. The changes are subtle, yet noticeable. My knees are no longer reliable on very long walks. My face appears to be slowly sliding off the front of my head, as if it were a poorly assembled layer cake. The last album I purchased on the day it was released was Hail to the Thief. I am 38, and I am now on the young side of old.

If you are also in your late 30s or early 40s, you may be struggling with some of the same questions I’ve encountered: how can I be getting old, when I am obviously so young, and so vital, and also Radiohead are a really relevant band who only have their best work ahead of them? Didn’t I come of age during the era of the “quarter life crisis,” which occurred at age 25—meaning that I can’t be middle-aged until I’m 50, and also that I’ll die at age 100, possibly while wearing a robotic exoskeleton on the surface of the moon?

I blame this confusion on our childhoods.