I’ve gotten sensitive lately about my age. Having just had another birthday last week, I am feeling a bit sad about it. No one should have a birthday in the winter. Cold weather and gray skies already test my good nature, leaving me moody and depressed at times, without the need for an added formal acknowledgment that I am mortal and growing older, irrefutable and complete with birthday cake and candles. A couple of well-intended jokes from my so-called friends did not help any. I have to say age jokes really aren’t nice unless the person telling the joke is older than you. If you’re prone to telling these jokes, then please take note.
The funny thing is, I don’t feel that different. There is nothing that I love that I’ve had to give up yet, by court order or otherwise. I did make a conscious choice to stop drinking, but that was a health choice and I have been surprised by how easy it has been for me, given that everywhere I go people are drinking. It’s funny how you never notice how much people drink on tv or in real life until you decide to stop. I’ve also given up meat. People act very weird about the meat thing, like I’ve gone crazy and chosen to live underground in the sewer system or something. So, I’ve learned to keep this on the “down-low.” Even I don’t like it when people roll their eyes at me or think I’m strange. But it does come easier the older I get. It is in my nature to be different and not care so much if I always fit in. Thank goodness.
Neither of these adjustments is a mandatory fix, just something that made sense for me given my propensity to eat cookies and cake. I picked cookies and cake over fattening meat and wine. I’m happy with the substitution, as I doubt I could give up pastries without going into some sort of sugar detox program where restraints were involved. Plus when I drink, I am prone to brutal sarcasm. My inner bitch often emerges and is apt to pick a fight that’s been simmering just below the surface, tucked away where it should be, unspoken and unacknowledged.
My definition about what is old has been redefined to suit my taste and ego. I have decided most recently, that you’re not technically old until you’re 70. I am quite sure that this number will get higher as I get older. Being adaptable is good for the soul. It definitely works for me.
The one thing I refuse to do as I get older is stop chasing my many dreams. Fortunately for me, being a professional dancer or tennis player are not on the agenda, so I’m good to go. Although at one time, I would have sold my soul to play professional tennis. But now I have to settle for the weekend warrior substitute.
As long as I have my mind, I can do everything on my agenda. And when I say mind, I am talking intelligence, not sanity, as that point has always been up for debate. Being completely sane seems so boring that I refuse to go there, even when encouraged. So I simply surround myself with people like me. No, I don’t hang out at the mental hospitals. But I do hang out with dreamers, entrepreneurs and artsy types. These are the people I love. They get me.
The strangest thing to me about growing older is how I hear friends start talking about retirement in their thirties and forties, saying things like, “only fifteen more years and I can retire with a full pension”, as they head off to a job they hate, putting in their time like they’re completing a prison sentence. I don’t get these people. Why would anyone trade their precious time on this planet doing something they hate, so they can be assured they will have a pittance to live on in their old age. Even I get what’s happening. They are sacrificing their youth, or at least their younger years for some sort of assurance they won’t starve when they’re older. What’s the point.
Getting older has been freeing in some ways as I’ve given up on vanity somewhat and have learned about how important good lighting is for your self-esteem. I know. Stop preaching at me. My mother told me the same thing. “Beauty is what’s on the inside.” But physical beauty goes a long way towards free drinks and other perks in life that will soon be replaced by discount senior citizen tickets at the movies.
The good news is that as I get older, so do all my friends. We are going through this together. My girlfriend is five years younger than me, so she is just a bit behind me. I’m not sure whether it is preferable to have a younger girlfriend or an older one. I can see the advantages of both. I must admit though, that if she ever makes the mistake of referencing our age difference, except in the most comedic fashion, I resent her for it. Note my commitment to giving up drinking above.
The only thing I know for sure is that baby boomers rule. We out number everyone else. So at least I am in good company.
Lesbian Wink 