How old is old?
I think we carry a picture of ourselves in our head that’s just lodge in there regardless how many years or decades go by, often when I see a recent picture of myself I’ll wonder who is that woman with all those lines around her eyes that vaguely resembles me.
I can’t remember the context of the conversation but I was at my brother’s house one Sunday having dinner and had commented on being middle age. Middle Age. Oh he just laughed and laughed. What. The. Hell.
This came up at work also recently though I’m not even sure how or why. Lil Ma’am asked me how old I’d describe myself, I said middle age, she too laughed, though in fairness she is nearly 20 years younger than me, my brother on the other hand is not.
Just exactly what then is middle age?
I consider middle age to be roughly between 45 -65 respectfully. Adulthood is 25 through 45 with the mid 30’s through 45 as full on full fledge adulthood. The golden years, 65 through, well, you know. Unless of course you ask my brother and apparently we all have one foot in the grave lest unbeknownst to me the red hot second we hit 50. I’m 53 as of December. Now this is all of course subject to change the older I get. Is that it? Do we change the aging brackets to suit ourselves as we get older? I never really thought much into this.
Age. It’s just a number. Shanti, shanti, shanti.
Aside from the weight gain and the ever losing battle to take it off and keep it off of menopause (a different kind of journey of ughness), I’m in pretty good overall health. I’m still bendy. I have good blood pressure, great cholesterol, no diabetes or pre diabetes, all of which run in the family. I haven’t smoked in 5 years and aside from that half bottle of Chardonnay last night I rarely drink. I have interests and hobbies and continue to develop new ones along the way and I have much more love and appreciation for my life than I’ve ever had in the past, a completely different level of gratitude. Don’t get me wrong, the ‘age’ card, it is handy to keep in your back pocket, i.e. “hey Hollywood, can you pick that up off the floor, you’re younger than me.” Hee hee hee. Or when the obviously 12 year old cashier asks me if I’d like my 10% senior discount, WTH. DO I LOOK 65! Then I remember my natural trés cool silver hair and platinum streaks I let grow out years ago in opt of my dyed and damaged hair, so to HER yes, actually, I suppose I DO look 65, and with that I say, “Hellz yes I’ll take that discount!”
Age. It happens. Meh.