On the Juxtaposition of Growing Older and Me...

I was listening to a much younger coworker talking about her upcoming trip to Italy and that she and her group would be staying in hostels, riding buses and taking trains, backpacking and hiking and I was reminded that my parents used to travel and stay in hostels, only they were Elderhostels. Then, the thought came to me, moving into my consciousness as slowly as a gentle breeze on a hot summer day, that I am old enough to be eligible to stay in an Elderhostel. Wow. At first I smiled at the thought, then laughed out loud. The ridiculousness of being fifty five years old is staggering. I don't feel like it, I don't look like it, and I certainly don't buy into the idea that I am on the downhill slide of my life. In fact I bought a pair of skinny jeans in the junior department yesterday. They have really cool rhinestones studs on the back pockets and belt loops and an even bigger rhinestone button on the fly. And I look pretty good in them if I do say so myself. I even bought a cute top to go with them. It is one that my granddaughter would love to have. Last night I was in the audience at the Roller Derby wearing pink glitter false eyelashes, a black miniskirt and hot pink tights. Age inappropriate? I don't think so, and who defines that anyway? My life swings from one side to the other of the over/under middle age measure and sometimes it makes me laugh out loud. The night before that I was enthralled at the symphony listening to a 20 something prodigy with my mouth agape, stunned at her ability to feel the music through her fingertips and on to the strings of her violin. She was astounding, thrilling to watch, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I remember thinking the symphony was for old people, yet there I was, completely enjoying the experience.

I love my ability to embrace both sides of my life in numbers, free of the encumbrances of worrying that someone will be looking at me, or judging me, labeling me, or even worse that I could possibly make a fool of myself. I wonder how my life would have been had I discovered earlier that it really wasn’t all about me. Seriously, people were not watching me all the time, laughing at me as much as I thought they were. As I was watching the emcee at the Roller Derby last night wearing nothing but lime green lace panties, black Doc Martins and a muscle shirt, I was envious of his ability to own his appearance. Who cares if he wore green panties? Maybe his mother, but he didn’t. He pranced, danced and totally owned the look. And I smiled while watching his confidence.

I think there are two camps when it comes to growing older. Those that look at it as an inevitability and make decisions based on “I’m too old for that” verses the other side that embraces growing older as an opportunity to try something they haven’t before, stretch out of a comfort zone, or learn that really age is just a number. Young at heart is a way of life, whether you are 9 or 90. My little old lady mother and her girlfriend wanted ice cream the other day and excitedly pulled out coupons for free cones from McDonald’s. As they approached the counter, they noticed the coupons were for ages 12 and younger. They stepped up to the counter confidently and asked the attendant, who was somewhere in the neighborhood of 16, if the coupon could apply if they were experiencing a second childhood. He consulted his 17 year old supervisor and with all seriousness they were awarded their free ice cream cones. They walked away giggling, licking their prize.

Me? Thinking of myself as older? Can't see how that goes together. I guess feeling young is just in my DNA, and for that I am grateful. So the message for today is I love my body more than thinking I'm too old for anything...

I’m off to skip through the park,
XO,
Karen