A smidge of aging

I am turning 30. I knew it would come eventually. I mean, as long as I continued living. Yet it's weird. When I was 23, there was a guy that, according to others and not the guy, liked me. At the time, he was 29, and I thought, nope, he's way too old. Sometimes I still find myself thinking that, like, oh, he's an adult, he's way too old for me, until I remember that I'm an adult, and I'm almost 30, and I'm getting kind of old. I think part of my dysfunctional thinking regarding age is that I still work at my college campus. The landmarks look the same and the students look the same, but I'm getting older. I don't feel older. I asked my grandma recently about her age, and she said that she still felt young, like her body was aging around her, but she felt the same as she had at 25. Age is just another thing we have absolutely no control over yet feel as if we should. We can get plastic surgery, follow diets that purportedly extend life, date younger men or women, dress ourselves in fashion meant for another generation. But it's all fruitless. You live as long as you're meant to, age exactly as you're meant to, and die just when you were meant to die. I have grey hair now. Hundreds of them. I was pulling them out, every now and then, but I can't keep up. My little rebellion against aging crumbled, and it didn't even take that long. I was overrun, much faster than I thought I would be. What can I do? Accept the inevitability and focus my attention elsewhere.