Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later, right? There comes a time when you realize that you’re now the age that you never thought you’d reach. For me, I guess that one is happening this year…50…and it is happening in just a few weeks. I mean, actually, it’s like a goal–only no one I know really talks about it very much. No one says, “Oh, boy! I can’t wait to turn 50!” and yet, it shouldn’t be a surprise when actually happens to you. Right?
It’s a bit strange, really, I mean it’s not like I didn’t know I was actually headed there (and I’m hoping to go a lot further, thank you very much!), but at the same time, fifty?! Shouldn’t someone about to turn 50 feel older than I do right now? Maybe even a lot older?
I’ve never been a math whiz, but I can manage a checking account and I can make change at art shows and I can even do most sales percentages in my head while I’m shopping, but for some reason I’ve always had to stop and actually do the math when someone asks me how old I am. I usually take some time before I respond to that question…every single time. I guess I could put it off to being stunned at the very rudeness of being asked (ha!), but honestly, it’s not that at all. It’s because I actually have to stop and count. Yes. Every single time.
For years, I was stuck at the age of 18. It was just my “go-to” age when someone asked. Then, it became 23. Some time after that it became 30, then 35, and then…well, I just forgot to think about it anymore until I turned 40. Incidentally, I’ve been 40 for almost 10 years now. (grin) It’s not that I hate birthdays. In fact, they were always a cause for celebration when I was growing up and I still like having them, but I guess I just forgot to think about the fact that I was actually getting older and that number was climbing right along with me.
It crept up on me recently. Someone I know and love–who I always think of being about the same age that I am–casually mentioned that they were going to be 53 years old this year and I very quickly did a head-shaking double-take and became very, very grateful that we were on the phone instead of face-to-face right then. Additionally, there’s been a serious rash of “look at my really gorgeous new grandchild!”-photos (and they are ALL gorgeous, people!) on Facebook recently…from children I remember being behind me in school–you know, those who are WAY younger than I am. Again, not a judgement call, just a wake-up call!
A couple of weeks ago now, I posted an anniversary message to my husband of 22 years and out of the many voices giving us congratulations came two lovely ladies from my childhood who started talking about how they remembered when I was just a little thing and how they couldn’t believe that I could possibly have been married for that long and I was like, “Seriously! Right?! How could all this life I’ve lived been happening while I wasn’t actually aging?!”
The government has recently decided to help me remember that I’m having a milestone birthday this year, however, by sending me their latest estimate of my Social Security benefit estimations (Personally, I think they’ve over-estimated that it will still be around when I’m actually old enough to get them, but whatever!) and two days ago, I got the requisite AARP card information with a list of discounts that I will soon be eligible for…and, once again, there’s the gray hair thing.
When I decided to stop covering up all the gray that’s actually been with me and multiplying since grad school, I forgot about what that might do to those who never actually knew that about me before. I like it. My husband likes it and I’ve gotten several compliments from those around me here who only know me like this. My mother-in-law says she likes it, but actually, she just stares at me intensely like she’s trying to figure out if that’s really me every time she sees me now before she says something sweet about how she just loves my hair now. (big grin!–actually, that makes me laugh every time it happens!) I was getting it cut again today and sharing that with my hairdresser when I suddenly remembered that my own parents have never seen me with gray hair and no attempt to color it. Since I’m heading back to see them in the next few weeks I decided that I should at least give them a bit of time to prepare for it, so today I told my mother that I have gray hair. Talk about a milestone!
Her response: “Really?!”
“Yes,I just thought I’d better let you know before I headed home again…and, by the way, I’ve got WAY more than Daddy does, ok? It started in grad school and I just decided that I was tired of covering it up.”
“Well, that’s ok,” she said. “Mine started when I had you.” (I guess that should have told her a lot, right?)
We laughed about it and I decided right then that I’m not really that old, after all. I’m still my mother’s baby, it’s only 50, and I plan to live forever. I’ll start thinking about getting old when I get to be my mother’s age…and I’ll still probably have to stop and do the math even then.