I’ve been thinking about my age recently. Maybe because my Mom is going to turn 70 in July. That is just crazy. A 70 year old mother, how did that happen? There’s that and then the fact that I realized that since my birthday a few weeks ago, I moved up an age group when it comes to registering to run in races. In addition, instead of rounding my age down to 40, I round it up to 50. Ouch! Thing is, I think about age much like my Mom. That it is just a number. It is just a number that society seems to hang certain things on; certain expectations or restrictions; things that are not supposed to be done when a certain age is reached. I don’t buy it. In my head, I think that I am like 26 so it is always a bit disconcerting when I remember that I am way past that. Usually I can’t really remember how old I am. If asked, I have to do math (always a sketchy prospect) to make sure that I get the number correct.
My Mom always says that she doesn’t mind getting older; she just wishes she didn’t have to look like a prune. I can appreciate that. I have some lovely deep set wrinkles that do not go away any more. Even worse, they are totally visible in just about any picture taken of me. This generally makes me against photos. And it has made me consider bangs. And on low self confidence days, Botox.
Then there is the fact that I’m pretty sure that I am ready for some bifocals. The last time I had my eyes checked, my doctor prescribed them but when I went to get my glasses I was told to wait till I needed a stronger prescription. I was all for that. But now, I totally have to take my glasses off in order to read the display on my phone, especially that darn small text in the twitter feed, or the newspaper, or a book or a magazine. OK, just about anything.
I imagine that as time goes on, there will be more, potentially more serious things, to add to this list. I only hope that I can adopt my mother’s attitude on this process. She continues to live life to the fullest, even if people think that as an almost 70 year old she should not be doing certain things (like mowing her giant lawn or shoveling snow or registering to run in a younger age group for races because she is usually the only one in her own group.) I do wonder if asked, how old she would say she feels inside. Part of me is relatively certain that it would be a number even younger than my inner 26 year old.