Philosophical ponderings on age (ok, not really)

Posted: June 26, 2012 in Uncategorized

via here

I had a birthday last weekend. A 51st birthday. Alien territory indeed.

Seriously, how the hell did this happen? When did I get middle aged? When did I make it to the middle of middle age? I recently caught myself talking about a 28 year old, saying she’s a good kid. KID!  I see 28 year olds as kids now?

To think when I was 15 I was making plans to commit suicide on my 30th because, damn, who wants to be so ancient. Funny how un-ancient 30 seems when you actually get there and you’re faced with killing yourself in your great age… Plus my method of choice was to drive my car off a cliff. Cliffs are sadly lacking in Montreal. And I didn’t have a car at 30. So all in all that worked out.

I changed my mind. And just kept aging.
Every.
Damn.
Year.

Some mornings I’m actually startled when I look at myself in the mirror. Who the hell usurped my body during the night and left me with this?

“Just wait until you reach 80”, mom said.

I don’t want to think about that. True, I have to age. And aging is not THAT bad, especially when you consider the alternative. When I start to consider the alternative as a viable option (PUN! I didn’t even realize it until I read through this again), then I’ll know it’s time to pootle off into the sunset. Or whatever. Buy a car and find a cliff maybe?

I’ve found that every year  the build-up to the fateful day is the worst part, a metaphorical dog basically, whose bark is worse than its bite (my birthday as a dog, I really need a better metaphor). And though the whole thought of growing old is mildly distressing and I figure it’s my aging and I’ll have a hissy fit if I want to (so there, stamp foot, yadda, yadda, yadda), once I’m actually there I’m all “whatever”. It’s a bit of an anticlimax really.

Well, except for that awesome bottle of grappa my honey gave me as a gift. Because really, if you have grappa, all will be well.

 

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Comments
  1. VioletSky says:

    I don’t event think about my age anymore. It makes life so much easier that way. I don’t like to look at photos of myself when I was younger, that way I can remain in denial. Yes, I really am 28 in my mind. Actually, I am 32. A much better age.

  2. pinklea says:

    When I think about it, I’m actually quite astonished that I’m in my 50s and middle-aged now. It just doesn’t seem real! It’s sometimes reallly hard to accept the fact that I’m the grownup here – ME, of all people! But yeah, it’s better than the alternative.

    Oh – and happy belated birthday!

  3. geogypsy2u says:

    Happy belated Birthday, kid!

  4. mrwriteon says:

    ‘Things they do look awful cold — hope I die before I get old’. Not so much any more. So, your 28 year old you see as a kid, well in my mind she’s probably still in nappies she’s so young. I still remember the column on reaching middle age that I wrote when I turned 35 — a few centuries ago. All I can say now is if you are around to celebrate your birthday still, things are going OK. So, again, happy birthday, hon’ and you’re only getting better. You wouldn’t have had your wit at 30. Nobody does at that age.

  5. geewits says:

    I have no problem with aging, I’m sorry you don’t like it. I’m just surprised I lived this long. I figured I’d croak at 48 or so. I’m glad I didn’t and I’m glad you didn’t.
    Happy Grappa Day!

  6. Pearl says:

    Ahh, how true this all is. I turned 50 in January. I mean, I’m happy to still be here and everything, but the little, nagging pains now. Is that totally necessary?

    Pearl

  7. Jocelyn says:

    Indeed, to all you write. It’s weird; it feels like “huh?”; then it’s done; we move on. I mean, what can you do, really? Drink the wine. Love the man. That’s all you can control.

  8. Suldog says:

    I’ll start by saying “Happy Birthday!”, even though that sentiment is obviously not the one foremost in your mind. Then I’ll give you Satchel Paige’s sage wisdom to ponder: “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you was?” I think that’s the best way to approach life (unless, of course, you think you’re 97, in which case you’re screwed.)

  9. Suzan says:

    Happy Belated Jazz!
    You’re catching up dahlink…….

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