This post is a tribute to all my adult-ish friends, especially those in denial about getting older. How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are? I read this question about a week or so ago, and it got me thinking. How old would I be? They say some people have an old soul. I’m pretty sure mine is about 12. Sure, there are parts of me that are wise and 32. There are also parts of me that are 6–the same parts that still like to color, and make my family watch the movie Home Alone every Christmas eve. I’m at a point in my life where I sort of feel like anyone who is old enough to have a mature conversation with me, or is youthful enough to take and enjoy my yoga and fitness classes is “about my age”.
In spite of this, I’ve been really hung up about getting older ever since I started getting towards the end of my 20’s. In fact, anything that involves too much adulting makes a little anxious. I freaked out a little when my husband and I bought our house a few years back, and things like taxes and insurance are enough to give me a mini panic attack. My dancer friends who are my age are fizzling out by the second, and it seems that every time I go to take a ballet or contemporary class it’s me and a bunch of infants (ok, actually they are probably just in college). Most of my other friends have kids and “real people” jobs, and when we get together it’s more reminiscing about the days of going out and partying than actually doing it. These days my idea of a fun Friday night involves me, a pajama outfit, and one of those kombuchas that contains a wee bit of alcohol.
Even so, I get very nostalgic for the days when I would eat Doritos and Hostess cupcakes for lunch, blissfully ignorant about things like trans fats and high fructose corn syrup. Or going to the tanning bed without fear of skin cancer or wrinkles. Sometimes I wish my daddy would still take my car for an oil change or a tire rotation (I always forget). Then again, there are perks to getting older. I feel like my dance students take me more seriously now that I look more like I could potentially be their mom (even if I still find my self twinning with them more often than not). Then there is retirement. Shout out to my own mom, who now walks shelter dogs (and her own fur baby), bakes cookies, and goes to lunch with her girlfriends all day. #iwannabelikeyouwhenigrowup You can eat ice cream for dinner if you want. And of course there is the wisdom and insight that you gain after making all sorts of mistakes (including that moment when you realize that a whole pint ice cream doesn’t actually make you feel well, even if it is made from organic coconut milk).
Last week I had mentioned this idea in my yoga classes, and a lot of people laughed at me. “You’re still so young!” they would say. I guess it’s all relative. One student in particular (who claims to be twice my age) told me after class that he feels like he’s around 24. He’s got the right idea. I don’t know why I get so caught up in that anyway. In the words of the Beyonce song: I’m a grown(ish) woman. I can do WHATEVER I want. In case you forgot, you can too. Your age is not a thing if you don’t want it to be. Just sayin…