Age has never been a thing with me. I guess it comes from how I was raised. My father had his first little baby at the ripe old age of 46. I had to explain that my "grandfather" was my Dad on more than one (million) occasion(s). My mother and father were also a decade apart in age. That was the source of many a dinosaur joke at the dinner table. I had half-siblings graduating from high school when I was quite young and a nephew when I turned the ripe old age of six. I also sat at many a wedding as a tween while the other first cousins were parents of children my age. Yep, I didn't really learn age discrimination...ever. Top this whole mindset with a father who never understood the concept of "being old" and I've been pretty healthy about new numbers on the cake. Sure, I plucked several greys out of my hair today while the sunlight through the sunroof made them sparkle..but let's just say I'm not worried. Yet.
I believe I had my children at a nice age. I wanted to be younger than my folks but experienced enough as an adult to handle them. I also knew there was a sweet spot where they would keep you young as you were rocking it as an adult. I think I found it. I can be fun and current and serious and informative. I dance and sing to "Call Me Maybe" and teach life lessons to a girl wise beyond her years. I dance between the decades and enjoy the silliest of kids and the most peaceful of seniors.
Lately, I have been using the mantra "I am the youngest I will ever be". It has helped me in the moments that things started to shift. Literally and figuratively. A night of dancing makes me sore. Cool shoes are removed way faster than they used to be. I know that a good night of sleep makes the difference in my day. But I have a long time to be old. So I wear the shoes if I get the opportunity. I dance if there is music. I stay up way too late and put on eye circle makeup if needed. I've been ok with the thought of the next big decade. Oprah, Cinde and many others have told me that it only gets better. You get stronger. Happier. A sense of freedom comes with forty. The days leading up to my birthday were met with suspicious eyebrows asking if I would be ok with it all. I was fine.
My dear fellow MudWorkers threw me a mini birthday bash at work. I was given a bright green tshirt, a gorgeous piece of artwork by Hannah and the much sought after Elwood (unicorn complete with rainbow mane) mug. Oh, and a big colorful cake. Chocolate. With a GIANT "40" on top. Have you ever jumped into icy cold water...maybe in a spring or waterfall...and had your breath taken away for a second? Well, it felt sort of like that. The words had been fine, the momentum was strong but that number staring at me rocked me a bit. Why? Because in my head I am still HALF of that age. I have been told recently (and more than usual...thank you kind universe) that I look young for my age. The tiny lines and greys really aren't the issue just yet. But to think that it is halfway over is a strange feeling. That's IF I make it to eighty. The ticking of the clock gets a little bit louder. The roller coaster hill starts to fall to the other side of the pinnacle. It all just feels so different. I will continue to believe that forty is the new thirty because Carrie Bradshaw and the girls taught me that notion years ago and it helps...but damn...it looks much different than it sounds. Eh, it doesn't sound all that great either. Yet. For now, I will continue my mantra and start to look forward to the next chapter with a little more vim and a tiny bit more vigor and maybe an occasional eff off. I'll start with this...eff off forty...you don't scare me at all!
No comments:
Post a Comment