I was taking a survey today, and there was an interesting question on it. It asked: What number best describes your age?
It didn’t ask me how old I was. It didn’t ask when my birth date was. I asked me what number best describes my age. What an interesting way of putting things. I mean, I am 41 years of age right now. I’ll be 42 in about 3 1/2 weeks (January 13th for those who want to mark your calenders or something, ’cause we all know my birthday is a freakin’ national holiday now)… but it asked me to pick a number that best describes my age.
Well, I guess that changes depending on the day. There are days I feel very old, worn out, tired. I ache, my legs hurt, my back balks at my requests to move. I find myself sometimes wanting to tell ‘when I was your age’ stories to my kids. Then there are days I feel like a kid. Not a teenager, but a little kid, who wants to play with stuffed animals and roll around on the bed and have pillow fights. Sometimes, I make messes and laugh about them, and I want to finger paint, and read children’s books.
My ‘age’ would best be ‘described’ differently depending on the day.
Overall, I guess I’d describe my age as good, though. I sort of like this age. I don’t know, I’m finally at that age where I’m old enough to be taken seriously about some things. When I was younger, I was always big for my age, so I tended to associate with older kids. I also was the type of kid who liked to hang out with the adults instead of the kids. But that had the disadvantage of having me always be called the ‘kid’ in any given situation.
When I got a little older, teen years, I left home at 15, got pregnant at 16, had a baby and thus was not exactly on par with my peers. I associated with other teens my age when I went back to school, but I didn’t really have a lot in common with them. Again, that left me with older people–my average age of association when I was 17-18 years old were people in their mid- to late-20s, mostly. Again, this always made me the ‘kid’ in the group.
By the time I was in my mid- to late-20s, I was still friends with or associating with these older people, but I was also working in professional positions in which I tended to be taken under wing by older men and women who would mentor me for fast-tracking in my profession–men and women in their 40s, who always would say things like, “Just you wait until you’re my age…”
Well, just the other day, I caught myself on Facebook saying something to a rather young-looking 34-year-old FB friend. I said those exactly words, “Just wait until you’re may age…” I’m only 41. I’m not that much older than she is. Sheesh. What am I, ancient?
Now, Lassie, when I was your age, I used to walk 10 miles in the snow, barefoot, uphill both ways, indeed.
I don’t look my age, at all. I can see a few more lines around my eyes, maybe, but I look young for my age. I have no grey hairs (and no, it’s not because of the box–I really don’t have grey hairs) and if anything looks old on me at all, I’d say my hands look older than the rest of me. But I’ve noticed that about women–our hands seem to age before anything else. Wonder why that is?
Anyway… now that I’m older, I have more legitimacy. I’m not the ‘kid’. I’m not being told by everyone around me, “Just wait until you’re older…” My kids are the age I used to be when I was being told those things. I don’t feel old. Some days I don’t even feel grown yet. I still sort of feel like I’m playing at this game of being a grown up.
So I haven’t the foggiest idea how to ‘describe’ my age, except for the old adage that I’m old enough to know better, but much too young to care. Or… I’m old enough to go to jail for it. Oh, wait. No. Not that.
How would you ‘describe’ your age?
Love and stuff,