I was sitting at a stop sign near North Georgia University where pedestrians were crossing in front of me. I was having an internal conversation about the ages of those passing my car. As most of them were largely college students, I was dialoging with myself about how, the older I get, it seems it is becoming harder to guess the ages of others.
I saw an old man with a very prominent, gray beard cross. He was carrying a briefcase and was clearly a professor. “He’s probably my age,” I laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Clearly, he was not my age. I’m young, vibrant and I have small children. This man was ancient.
He turned to look at me. Wait, GASP! This man is someone I know! In fact, he was a classmate of my younger brother. So, not only is he NOT my age, he is YOUNGER than me.
Clearly, without any warning at all, I am aging. My wrinkles are getting deeper and my knees now creak when I go up and down the stairs. I’ve never been able to hear knees move before, but I assure you it is a real thing. I complain about the mattress, but it’s probably more likely that my hips are the real problem. My gray hairs have taken over like kudzu.
It wasn’t long ago that I went for a haircut. The young, pretty, twenty-something girl cutting my hair made sure to point out my gray hairs she found. I’m not sure she quite understands the concept of working for tips. The truth, though, is that she isn’t wrong. The grays are there. They are multiplying faster than I can figure out how to sign up for AARP.
I’m not sure how, or when this happened. It creeped up on me, but before I even knew it, I wasn’t really interested in playing in the snow. I could only think about how I don’t like to be cold. I found myself turning down an opportunity to water ski, knowing if I fell, I would be really sore for days later. I would be sore even if I didn’t fall. I started spending less money on cute clothes and more money on skincare products. It really hit me the day that I opted for the shoes that were comfortable and not the ones that were cute.
I am not entirely sure I know how to navigate this new phase of life. Before you know it, I’ll be asking my three-year-old to show me how to use my own cell phone.
My dad just bragged to me that I would love the new vacation home he purchased because, and I quote, because this is the truth, “You would just love this place. The recycling bins are SO organized!” Is this what I will soon become? Will I soon call my daughter and ask her to walk me through printing from my phone, even though I have no idea what kind of printer, what kind of phone or what kind of document I have? Is this my future?
When I was growing up, my parents seemed soooo old. I wonder how my eight-year-old sees me. My mom asked me just this week if I felt my age. She’s in her 70’s now and she admitted, she didn’t really feel her age either. I'm glad I'm not the only one.
Growing up is weird. It’s weird to realize that I’m a real grown-up and someone left these three kids for me to figure out what to do with. I am the one responsible now. People are looking to me for answers.
I guess I thought when I got old, I would be more prepared, have more solutions or feel confident cooking the Turkey for Thanksgiving. I thought I would finally buy fabric softener or figure out how to fold the fitted sheet. Maybe the fact that I still don’t know these things means I have a way to go yet. Maybe there’s still hope for me and this is actually a good sign. All grandmothers know how to fold fitted sheets and I am for sure not ready to be a grandmother anytime soon. We are still watching Mickey Mouse at my house.
What’s the moral? There isn’t one. Except, maybe you should be careful judging the person crossing the street. It could be me and I could be younger than you.
