“I’m still waiting to feel like a grown-up.”
If you Google this line you will find young adults, middle-agers, and old-timers alike, saying it.
“I feel like a kid,” thirty-year-olds with kids of their own and mortgages, are saying.
“I still feel like a kid,” says my eighty-something-year-old friend.
You say, “I don’t feel old. When did I become this old?” You insist, “I’m the same as I was at sixteen,” but on some days you will cede, “I’m not the person I was. I can’t do what I used to do.” When do you come to acknowledge those first inklings that you might be old?
At some point we all lose loved ones, friends, pets, opportunities. And sometimes we lose sharpness and memories, abilities, mobility, independence. Maybe the loss of what we believe defined us is what drives us to finally write our advance directives or begin to explore what really matters in our lives, as Atul Gawande discusses in his newest book, Being Mortal.
Are you old when you don’t want to ride ponies, or when eating spaghetti and chocolate ice cream with wild abandon is no longer appealing? When you give up driving are you old or are you cautious? If you’re twerking to Gangsta rap are you young or just trying to feel young? Are you still young if you dance in your Converse sneakers and smoke smuggled joints in your mother’s condo? Are you old if you no longer have a mother? When you become a grandparent do you become old?
I say age is simply a measure of your time since birth. Never mind wrinkles, gray hair, and arthritic joints. The hearing loss and senior moments just make us feel worn out. What matters most is attitude and activity. Life is short; enjoy it even as the body crumbles. You are both young and old. Even if you’ve been reformed and rehabilitated, even though every cell in your body has changed several times over, the YOU you were is the YOU you are and will be. Whether or not you look to the times ahead or notice the years creeping by.
So maybe it’s time to hug your inner child.
What are the ways you are old and young?
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I think I’m old downstairs and both young and old upstairs. Downstairs, my bones and innards are experiencing the wear and tear of aging. Upstairs, I am still often rambunctious and technology doesn’t frighten me. But the experiences of the years have most certainly affected my maturity — my mental attitudes –my sensitivity to life in a world gone mad. I’m glad I still remember how to love –my children — and the gift of life that allows me to enjoy what’s still worthwhile.
Thanks, Mom. I’m always amazed at how you tackle technology. I wish I was as adventurous as you are when it comes to computers and programs. And yes, life is a gift, a really good one. Looking forward to catching you in Florida soon.
Robin, I love the way you remind us that we are “young and old.” Nothing stays the same. Looking at the sun on the snow today, and on the limbs of the trees, and then looking up at the blue sky, I felt young. After spending a day and a half trying to fix my computer–well, at least I’m still trying! 😉
Oh, well fixing computers – you’re just asking for a spanking. Other than technology though, how many opportunities do we get to feel little, lost, and completely clueless? Thanks, Lynne.
My elderly harp teacher, Edna Phillips, former Principal Harp of the Philadelphia Orchestra, used to tell me, “Myra, inside I feel like I’m 18 but the old Ford, she won’t go anymore.” Well, she quit playing the harp when she gave a performance that didn’t live up to her expectations of herself. Maybe she should’ve kept at it? Old harpists don’t die, they just keep on gigging! At least so says my composer, Laurie Conrad, who has been to the other side and back. What can I say? Hugging your inner child won’t do it. Play with her!!!! Or play with someone else’s inner child or outer child. Whatever. Play! Practice! And someday, you too may get to Carnegie Hall. Thinking of you so often, Robin.
Love,
Myra
Hi Myra. I don’t know where you are these days but I hope you are well. And warm. And not sick with this blasted cold that’s going around. Playing with your inner child is certainly the way to think of this. Allowing yourself to play is definitely the key. Instead of grumbling in the cold, make snow angels. Or photograph the tire patterns in the driveway. How does anyone just give up the instrument they’ve been playing all their life?
Fantastic photo, Robin. I walked Willow with her hip strap in the snow tonight. It will be -6 tomorrow night–not wind chill, but the actual temperature. Makes me feel old which I am. Then I get mad that my dog has screwy knees and costs so damned much money. I stomp around in drifts following my sniffing dog and praying for her to pee. “I don’t deserve this,” I yell at the wind. I feel like a kid.
I love that, Elaine. I can just imagine you at there with Willow, all wrapped up, counting the minutes, watching the potty dance.yeah, windchill does not help me feel any younger, just more crotchety.