For a long time, one of my favorite movies was "Gotta Dance," a 2008 documentary about the New Jersey Nets' senior hip-hop dance team, dubbed the "NETsationals." Ages 60 and above, the team members were dedicated, fun-loving, and oftentimes not so great at dancing. Regardless, the crowd adored them. And I did too!

As a 23-year-old on campus, I sometimes feel like a member of the NETsationals. My friends poke fun at my Big Age (yes, I still have all my real teeth) and call me a "lady." With a gap year under my belt, I sometimes feel like the weird uncle hanging around the kid's table a little too long.

In the grand scheme of things, I know 23 is not old, but at every age we feel the oldest we've ever been (well, yes). And with that nostalgic, scary feeling comes another feeling, which I've labeled "Too Late Syndrome." We start thinking that because we are sooo old (or so we convince ourselves), it's past our time to try new things. I'm here to say it's never too late (and I'm hoping the NETsationals will back me up).

Regardless of age, it's scary to try something new. Whether it's your first time behind the wheel on a highway or you're trying to hit your first falsetto in singing lessons, you're just plain nervous. We're nervous we might not like what we're trying, or worse, that we'll be bad at it, or even worse, that others will think we're incompetent. So we prefer to stick with what we know. Who could blame us? We like our comfy couch with a comfy blanket and a comfy night when we're in control of the remote.

But I implore you to think of your favorite memories from the last year, or even the last month or week. Were you doing the same thing for the millionth time? Were you in the same-old, everyday environment? Did you feel totally comfortable and unchallenged by everything that was happening? Survey says probably not.

Some of my favorite memories are rooted in the fresh soil of trying new things. And it turns out that soil is loaded with nutrients. Columbia University researchers found that new experiences prime our brains to adapt more easily to changing circumstances. These new experiences, whether at a new library or on vacation, activate areas of our brains associated with learning and memory. Readily exposing ourselves to new experiences prepares our brain for what's yet to come. A daily treadmill sprint helps us get in shape for the unexpected 5K.

Further, these experiences strengthen our neural connections. While we're busy learning how to maneuver knitting needles or how to stack weights in the gym, our brain is busy creating new synaptic connections. The connections are the bricks of a castle (except imagine these bricks are all in communication with each other). With more bricks, we build new rooms full of dopamine, neural activity, and more learning. So bring on the bricks!

I've seen "Too Late Syndrome" just about everywhere. Over winter break, I visited my younger neighbor. We were playing with clay and making mini crowns, and we started talking about Tessa Virtue, the great Canadian ice dancer. My neighbor talked about loving ice skating, but being too old to start. My response? "You're only nine!"

We can all look at this story and laugh at the ridiculousness of it -- how can a literal child see herself as too old to try an ageless activity? -- but it's also pretty easy to insert yourself into the 9-year-old's perspective.

In most places, we put ourselves in a box. At school, we have our majors. At work, we have our departments. At home, we have our preexisting hobbies. People know us by these things and it's often how we introduce ourselves. Even if we like this box (hey, it's padded and has our favorite wallpaper), it's still a box.

Reaching outside of this niche is scary. We look at a STEM class and say, "But I'm a humanities kid!" We hurry in the opposite direction of the gym and declare, "I'm a bookworm." These things may very well be true, but they don't have to be contradictory.

I felt this way two years ago, when I was sitting among a group of friends talking about their favorite books. As they shared their best recommendations and the worst movie adaptations, I nodded along, not saying much. I was the chronically online Chatty Cathy, not the introverted speed reader. I knew I liked to read, but I was never the person to race through books and earmark pages. But I wanted to be.

So I set a goal. I wanted to read 25 books that year. I knew I worked best with concrete goals (big numbers guy over here), and a lofty goal would push me to explore a bunch of genres. By the end of that year, I was two books short of the goal, but I was happy to carry the 23-book medal. I also stopped caring about the numerical goal so much and more about the actual books.

I was often reading the same books as my mom's book group, and I wanted to know what Anne and Lisa thought about the ending. I would push my bedtime back to get to the ending of the most devastating Irish fiction. I also started writing again, something I hadn't really done since high school. I explored taking writing classes in college and doing some fiction writing during the summer.

Taking the time to flip a few pages every night (whether they were from a rom-com beach read or a vulnerable memoir) bolstered my initial goal of trying new things. I felt room to be more creative and explorative. If I could read 23 books in one year after a decade-long near-drought, I could surely cold-email professors about their marketing labs. If I could put the pedal to the medal on something I wanted to do for years and see results, I could do that in other areas too.

Now, 2 years and 50+ books later (including the entirety of "The Summer I Turned Pretty" series... I know), I pride myself on trying new things. Frankly, most of the time, I'm bad. I also don't really mind. If I gutter the ball the first 3 turns in bowling (this is not a metaphor) or wobble my way through a yoga class, I can feel that I'm learning. This is especially important to me in my last semester.

Given that our reluctance to try new things is bound up in our self-perception of our age, college can be a weird time to try new things. We label freshmen as "babies" and demand they try everything. We see seniors as just that (geriatric seniors) and look twice if they reach for something new. If we zoom out, any college age is young. If we zoom out even further, age shouldn't really be a consideration in trying new things.

In my last semester, I feel energized by the dwindling clock. I want to try everything (big and small) that matters to me before time runs out. So, I've joined the school newspaper (hello), started working out for the first time in five years, and began studying in new buildings.

I'm on a "new" kick, and whenever I get scared, there's a catchphrase that rings in my head: "You're only nine!"