A friend recently tweeted that Metallica's "Black Album" is now considered classic rock and wondered if this means he's old. We all have those moments when something makes us pause and say, "I'm so not in my 20s (30s, 40s) anymore." Maybe it's seeing college kids, or not being able to recover from a big night quite as quickly. This week, I had one of those moments, but, ultimately, I was reminded that age is only a number.

Wednesday night I made the rounds with one of my favorites, Michael Kennedy. (Sidebar: In his duties as Man of Honor for a friend's wedding, Michael is throwing her a shoe shower. Best. Idea. Ever.)

We started out after work at Hal & Mal's and then decided to go visit the endearingly snarky Vince Falconi, who was bartending at Ole Tavern at George Street. At the downstairs bar, we encountered a Young Thing, a Belhaven student hanging out there with some schoolwork. That part made me a little wistful for college, but her outfit flat-out made me feel old. I suddenly became painfully aware that I am beyond the years of even thinking of wearing ripped tights with shorts in a sort of Ke$ha-esque homage. I'd simply look pathetic, like I'd just had a really rough night and gotten into a fight with a holly bush.

I tried to drown out the "you're old" voice in my head, but the next morning only seemed to reiterate the fact that yes, time is carrying on. (Vince makes a mean gimlet.)

Ready to lift my spirits, Thursday night I attended the one-woman show featuring Anna Deavere Smith at the Jackson Convention Complex. The show was inspiring, but even better, one of the Women's Fund's founders, Joan Bailey, happens to be one of my favorite people in life and the woman I wish to become when I grow up. And I got to chat with her during the cocktail hour.

Though she's small in stature, her energy and passion for life are enormous (as evidence, she's in the Sweet Potato Queens' books). At one point, she related a recent dinner with a certain set of friends where she kept thinking how old they all were. But it wasn't so much a matter of their age (the same as hers) as how they acted. It made her want to be around her wider range of friends—young and old, black and white, gay and straight, from different professions—because their diversity and vitality give her energy and inspiration.

I walked away vowing to continue to immerse myself in all of the different circles in Jackson and to cultivate a diverse group of friends. It really does make life more interesting and fun.

That thought was still with me on another night out with friends at the Blondes vs. Brunettes Jackson Draft Day. At the party announcing the teams (I'm on Team Brunette) and coaches for this flag football game in May benefitting the Alzheimer's Association, folks mixed and mingled at Albert's (the Parlor Market event space), and, afterward, a number of us walked down to the restaurant.

While sitting at the bar, I couldn't help but notice a table of three women. They looked like women who had a story, so I decided to go speak to them. Indeed, I found out they were three generations out celebrating the matriarch's 86th birthday. She invited me to sit with them, and we ended up talking about life and Jackson. She's a longtime Fondren resident and shared her memories of downtown and Farish Street in their heyday.

Being with three generations of Jackson women who've led full lives and still enjoy a night on the town in celebration of life, I felt their spirit and was reminded that you really can be young at any age. But I wouldn't turn away a visit from a youth fairy bearing Botox.

Follow @IamJulieSkipper on Twitter.