The Quadragenarian Era Is So Weird

The older I get, the more I hear myself start sentences with, “The older I get…”

I’m an ’80s baby. We stayed out until the streetlights came on and played kick the can on the gravel, chunks of which invariably ended up lodged in our shins and scraped knees. We used landlines and experienced commercial breaks. Life was pretty simple.

Not like today. Boy howdy.

Nope, in fact, the older I get (see?) the more I scrunch up my face in confusion at the behaviours and idiosyncrasies of modern society. People go out of their way to create video content and fall down cliffs and mountains for that oh-so-desired clout. We bicker and moan at each other online in cruel, unfeeling ways that we would never attempt if we were face-to-face.

We’re cowards. We’re narcissists. In short, we’re not very good people.

Like I said, I’m an ’80s baby. That tells you right there that I’m up there in years, and it’s not as scary as I thought it would be. I’m closer to midlife than a quarter, and I know, deep down, that I’m an old fart compared to all the twenty-year-olds making their marks on the world.

And yet, I feel like I’m 25, and it’s very uncomfy.

The mirror

I have a mirror, okay? I know how old I am, and I look my age.

But it’s a bit of a shock every time I see a picture of myself. I have well-nourished skin, and I take care of my body. I take supplements to ward off the negative effects of aging (you should see my pill container!) But wrinkles and sagging are all part of the natural aging process, no matter what you put into your body.

My inner self, however, is not wrinkled. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the definition, but my “mind’s eye” has kept me still at around the age of 25 or 30, and when I see someone over a decade older looking back at me in the mirror, it’s almost an “uncanny valley” situation.

I’m not naive. Aging is a blessing. It’s an experience that not everyone gets to have. I thought I would be happy to age gracefully (no fillers here!) But aging physically when my mental and emotional age feels so much younger is depressing.

It’s also extremely unfair that women like J-Lo get to look younger than I do, but celebrities are entirely different creatures. Whatareyagonnado?

Babies

This Christmas, we, like many families, took our kids to one of the local Christmas tree light displays. There was the usual: pretty twinkly lights, rosy cheeks and noses, hot chocolate, and crowded fire pits. There were also a couple of those old, red phone booths in the main plaza for photo opps and such.

Our kids had no idea what they were, because of course they didn’t. While my husband and I both used many a payphone in our younger days, they’ve never lived a moment without an adult near them having a cell phone. My daughter is nine, and some of her friends already have phones on them at school. This revelation would have shocked me when I was nine years old.

There are also the YouTubers I like to watch — not a single one is over the age of thirty, except for the fashion bloggers, and I disagree with most of their style advice anyway (I don’t care what you say, but blazers on older women do nothing for a feminine shape — the same goes for younger women, while I’m at it!) The point is, a lot of the upandcomers in the entertainment industry are almost young enough to be my own children, and that really changes the way I see myself. It even changes how I see my younger self.

When I think about how my life has changed since the day I turned twenty-five, I realize how insane life can be. I have been through a wild, bumpy ride, and these kids are only just beginning. I sincerely hope life is much kinder to them.

Or if not, I hope they learn their lessons faster than I did.

Old folks

Remember Full House? I remember thinking that Danny Tanner was such an old guy, and that the uncles were old, too (except for Uncle Jesse, because who didn’t have a crush on Uncle Jesse?)

Yeah, no. In the first season, Danny Tanner was thirty. THIRTY.

I used to really enjoy watching Sex and the City, too, and I’m currently almost seven years older than Carrie was at that show’s premiere. Talk about entirely different lifestyles—when I was Carrie’s age, I had a toddler and a full-time job, and it was all very unglamorous. There wasn’t a Choo to be seen in my non-walk-in.

When I was in my twenties, I may not have had a clear idea of what I wanted, but I was pretty sure my life would go in a different direction than the one it did. I wasn’t sure about kids, but I was pretty sure I wanted to be a great writer. I wanted to be glamorous, glitzy, and exciting, and maybe I was for a few years. But settling down makes you calm down, too, and I’m not mad about it. I’m ridiculously happy being a mom, and I love watching my little family experience life.

But the old me is in there, still, somewhere. She feels a smidge like she missed out on her independent singlehood, living life in a big, exciting city and eventually being able to afford a beautiful apartment or townhouse overlooking the river. There was a path I could have taken, but didn’t.

Seriously, the forties are so weird. The things you think about are weird.

Numbers

My grandmother is 96. She’s a pretty tough lady.

I wonder who she is in her mind’s eye. Is she the young 25-year-old with little kids to look after and rollers in her hair? Is she the divorcee in her forties working her butt off as a nurse?

Does she see herself exactly as she is now? I don’t know, and I have enough sense not to ask her. I know when to mind my own business.

I can’t help but think that I’ll continue to see myself as the same young woman I was back in those early ‘aughts. The same girl who had big dreams and an even bigger imagination. The same girl who was quick to anger but who loved fiercely, who didn’t yet have walls and armor and security systems to protect her soft middle.

Maybe one day I’ll feel my age, and not just in the creakiness in my knees. Maybe I’ll feel more mature, more emotionally stable. Maybe I’ll feel like I’ve got my shit together—maybe I’ll even wear blazers.

On second thought, nah. Definitely not the blazers.

But there’s something to be said for living life in a freer way, too. Living more openly and joyfully, as I did when I was younger. Living less cautiously and more adventurously. Or maybe it’s a delicate balance between a mature experience and a wild one.

And while I may not entirely connect with the face looking back at me in the mirror, I can at least connect with pieces of it—the green eyes with flecks of my mother’s brown ones. The same nose as my twin brother’s. The greying hair that still shines with strands of gold in the sun. It’s all still me, it’s just a different version. Maybe that will still ring true when I’m 96.

They say that age is just a number, but maybe it’s also a feeling. All I know for sure is that what I don’t feel is the number forty, and honestly, I don’t feel twenty-five either. Whatever I feel, it’s not a comfy spot to be.

Who knows; maybe forty-one will feel just right.

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This post was previously published on ILLUMINATION.

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