When I am old, I shall wear loose-fitting dresses with slippers that do not match, and I shall clash pots and pans together to create my own cacophonous symphony. I shall sing in elevators and press all the buttons for the fun of doing so, and when I arrive at my floor, I shall tap on all the doors and say hello to the people behind them. I shall do these reckless things that I had yearned to do in my youth. My opportunities for heedless fun will be fleeting, so I shall have heedless fun everyday.

When I visited my 90-year-old grandfather last month, he asked me whether or not a person’s behavior should be judged based upon age. Although the question appeared rhetorical, I began to flounder for an answer.

We do not judge toddlers for screaming in public or smearing ice cream across their mouths and requiring others to clean up after them. Similarly, we do not judge elderly people for holding onto old convictions that were common in their prime but are no longer widely accepted. We would, however, judge a middle-aged adult for ordering off the kids’ menu and drinking Sprite out of a sippy cup. I have decided that perhaps we should not judge behavior based upon age.

A writer by the name of Jenny Joseph inspired my perspective (and the introduction of this very column) in her poem, “When I Am Old.” She states all the things she shall do when she is an old woman, such as “wear purple with a red hat that doesn’t go” and “gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells.”

In doing all these things when she is past her prime, Joseph intends to ultimately make up for the “sobriety” or level-headedness of her youth.

How sad. How utterly, disappointingly, anti-climatically sad. Living your whole life in perfect, complacent normalcy, only to spend your final years at last behaving in the way you always wished you could. Why shouldn’t we wear clothes that do not match? If I wake up yearning to wear a turquoise shirt with pink pants, why shouldn’t I?

As young adults, we are in the window of our lives in which we are susceptible to judgment based on our behavior. We are to put good grades on transcripts and to wear clothes that match. We must maintain a certain sobriety in our youth so as not to encourage judgment for our deportment.

I don’t know about you, but that sounds miserable to me.

Yes, it is scary to consider taking a path that has not yet been marched upon, but it is scarier to imagine waking up one day at the doddering age of 85 only to realize that you spent the pinnacle of your days — your precious youth — solemnly following rules and neglecting to acknowledge your inclination toward happiness.

So press all the elevator buttons and make beautiful, discordant noise with kitchen tools. You shall wear slippers that do not match your pants. You shall splash in puddles and say hello to strangers and order the most divine dish on the menu, because if there is ever a time to make up for the sobriety of your youth, it is now, in your youth, before there is anything to make up for.