I gave my sister this card for her birthday last month.
“How true,” I thought at the time. When I was younger the ages we are now seemed so old. For years leading up to Y2K I’d think “I’m going to be 38 in 2000.” Hard for my younger self to believe, even harder to realize fourteen New Years have come and gone since. Now that I’m here, In my fifties, older, I don’t feel old and I don’t consider myself old. I’m more physically active than I was in my thirties; sometimes I forget I’m not thirty and resort to eating an ibuprofen or three after a workout. Otherwise, I’m on board with the clichés: you’re as young as you feel: age is just a number.
But last night when I got home, after running seven-plus long, arduous miles on the treadmill I felt as if I could lay on the couch, close my eyes and sleep for twelve hours. My stomach was a bit upset and I was exhausted. Dare I say, I felt older-ish. I had a few things to do, we’re going to VT with Tom and Jana today, so I couldn’t curl up in a ball under my blanket. There was dinner to eat, packing to do, food prep for snacking this weekend to be completed. I managed to keep my laptop tucked away in its bag, I can lose precious time on that thing, and get to bed at a reasonable hour. I woke up feeling much better today, feeling that Old was off in the distance, not nearby.
I’m happier now than I was in my thirties, more content, more accepting. Does that come with age or where I am in my life? Or both?