I’m starting to feel my age

Why didn’t anyone tell me I was getting old? I had no idea. I’ve foolishly been blaming my slow lifestyle and borderline retirement conversations on my older friends, only to realize, even my youngest of compadres are talking like seniors.

In fairness to me, many of my friends truly are older. Much, much older (and with any luck, not reading this). So it’s no wonder that I feel old when some of my cohorts are talking about grand kids, Florida for the winter, and orthopedic inserts.

But when my daily gang (the young-uns) starts talking about downsizing, kids leaving for university, and empty nesting, I’m starting to worry. Maybe I am getting old?

This turn of events couldn’t be ignored this week when we celebrated my dad’s 75th. He looks as handsome as always and nowhere near his age, but he still talks about old-man things. Worse … his old-man things are the very things we have in common.

Dad and I have always had common interests—politics, world issues—we often enjoy very thought provoking discussions. But lately, conversation usually opens with “So, how’d you sleep last night?” We share about sleepless nights, aches and pains, and the latest supplements to cure what ails us. Discussions usually conclude with something about “kids today … “.  How did our gap in age suddenly narrow?

In general, I feel young. I hardly think of myself as an old woman. But I see the looks of teens and young adults I know, and I realize, that’s not how they see me. I had a teen recently talk about ‘this old teacher’ that taught her class. It took me a few minutes, then I finally mustered up the nerve to ask… “How old exactly?” She thought for a second. Winced. Then looked a little revolted and said “Like … 30”. Just as I suspected.

I try to think back to my mom and her girlfriends. They always seemed like old women. Which is ridiculous when I consider my mom had me at 22. Even my coolest of aunts are old ladies in my memory. But I’ve looked back at the photos and realized, that at the moments they seemed ancient to me, they were actually younger than I am today. In fact, I can still picture my Teta Bo (one of the coolest of aunts still today), sitting poolside in her awesome terry cloth strapless romper. I wanted one just like it. I remember thinking, dang … she’s so hip for an old lady. She was 35.

We’d like to think we’re doing a better job than the previous generation. Just yesterday a friend commented, “We’re far ahead of our mothers at this age!” Almost like we should be patting ourselves on the back for our achievement. But are we really? Or is it just loving girlfriends that make us feel that touch superior? Maybe it’s just the order of things. I’m sure my mom felt she looked better than her mother did.

I can’t be certain which version is reality. The one in my head, or my kids’, but I do know that time moves far more quickly the older you get. Which means there’s no time to worry about it.

I’m happy to be here. Happy to be delusional about how old I am (or am not!), and happy to have conversations about downsizing, my poor vision, or whatever else aging presents to me. I guess it all just snuck up on me when I wasn’t paying attention.

Pass me a glass of wine, so I can toast to getting older. Or maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to have another glass of wine? Rose every day. Whatever works.

In case you’re wondering – . I went with the sneakers. Those heels weren’t worth the back pain. They only get brought out if there’s a 98% sit vs stand ratio.

If you’re starting to feel your age, tell me about it.