Bemused

Tomorrow, the 9th, I begin my second half century of life. It's a weird age to think about in the abstract. Folks tend to make a big kerfluffle about birthdays that end in zero, which seems a bit arbitrary to me. In reality a person is only one day older than the day before, but, in our youth-loving culture, the higher the number of birthdays, the closer we come to being seen as irrelevant by society.

Most of my birthdays ending in zero have been non-events. Twenty is lost in a haze of unhappiness and misdirection. Thirty was headed toward being not much of anything until it turned into thirty-and-haven't-finished-college, which made it a bit of a bummer. Forty wasn't much at the time either, but, in hindsight, I can see it as the beginning of my Great Awakening in which my life began turning into a more fulfilling direction.

And now it is fifty. I come to the number with neither excitement nor dread. In fact, the number has no particular meaning to me by itself. I don't know what fifty is supposed to feel like and doubt that I ever will. The only dread attached to the number fifty is the baggage that other people will attempt to attach to it and me. Of course, there is good-natured teasing about getting "old", which isn't a problem. The problems come when others assume you can't do things, like jobs, because of it. The gradual invisibility which descends on "women of a certain age." The dismissals that occur from others based on nothing but a birth-date. These are the things I am not looking forward to and plan to reject as much as possible.

It's mind-boggling how we collectively approach age. "Really? You look so much younger than that!" No matter what that is. "You're so young for your age." Whatever that might mean. And we're expected to take it as some sort of compliment. As though there is something wrong with the age that we truly are. As though they are surprised that we haven't fallen apart yet. And then there is the very real possibility of age discrimination in the work place, which is the only true downside to the number attached to our birthdays.

So, how do I approach this phenomenon? First and foremost, I refuse to let anyone categorize me as "old." Any young whippersnapper who tries to pigeonhole me is going to be sat down for a few home truths. As far as the world of work goes, I plan to omit any and all references or hints to how many birthdays I've celebrated. And, since I'm frequently told that I "don't look my age," I plan to take out stock in L'Oreal and keep those gray hairs that I've been collecting for the past quarter century well hidden.

Given that I have no idea what fifty is supposed to look or feel like, I plan to continue on in a way that suits me. And that includes becoming a bit more outrageous. Anyone who has a problem with that will be politely invited to go suck an egg.

I don't feel any different inside that I did when I was thirty-five. So I may just remain thirty-five. Okay, maybe thirty-six. Tomorrow will be the fifteenth anniversary of my thirty-sixth birthday. Given that I am blessed (or cursed) with long-lived genes, I could very well end up celebrating the fifty-fifth anniversary of my thirty-sixth birthday. And I intend to go forward as I have these past few years, grabbing all the gusto I can and having as many new experiences as possible.

"We are always the same age inside." -- Gertrude Stein.

Age

"Age is a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it don't matter." -- Satchel Paige.

Generally, I think Satchel Paige was right about this one with only a couple of exceptions. I've never been one to get upset about birthdays. The only times that I have, it hasn't been about the age I was. It was about something that was missing from my life that I thought I should have had by the time I was that age. And this year is no exception.

The first time I really noticed the creeping of age was when I turned 25. There was just something slightly unnerving about being a quarter of a century old. But it didn't really faze me much.

The year I turned 30 was when I first noticed that any concern I had about age was linked to unmet dreams and needs. Leading up to the day, I had absolutely no qualms about turning 30. Then 3 days before my birthday, we got a letter from a friend that mentioned her younger sister was graduating from college that spring. Crash! I was going to be 30 with no college degree and I indulged in a bit of a pity party. It was the lack of a degree rather than the age that got to me.

Forty didn't faze me at all. I was in a new certificate program, having finished my degree 4 years earlier. I was working with like-minded people and getting ready to begin an entirely new chapter in my life. I think that 40 was the most liberating birthday I have had yet.

But this year, I am again noticing things and experiences that are missing from my life that I had hoped would be there by now. And I know that, before too many more birthdays pass, I will have to give up entirely on some of them. I don't like that fact, but they aren't entirely in my power to bring into my life. However, I think that I'll let myself continue to hope for a while longer.

Satchel got it wrong if he meant to say that age never matters. There are some cases where it does. Our society elevates youth and totally dismisses age. Ask any 50-something person what they think their prospects are if they are laid off from a job. Most folks will agree that they are slim to none.

And more than a few times in my life, I have seen very old people addressed in tones more appropriate for use with children. There is more than a suggestion that older people, meaning older than the person with the opinion, can't possibly know anything due to being old and, therefore, out of touch. I first experienced this when I was the ripe old age of 35. I'd finally returned to college to finish my degree and almost all of my classmates were in their early 20s. In a philosophy class, there was young fellow who was clearly of the opinion that I was too old to know anything at all. He would take contrary positions to everything I said and resort to put downs when logic wouldn't carry his argument forward. I was befuddled by this so I talked with the professor. He told me that I wasn't imagining it, it was real, and that I should watch how the brat talked to him as well. Apparently, the tyke had serious problems with older people, no matter how little or how much older they were. I expect that that sort of thing will increase as my age does. And I am absolutely certain that it will make me angry and I'll put a few people in their places.

An interesting thing that I've noticed about the whole age thing is that the number doesn't mean much as far as the individual is concerned. I've known people in their 20s who are "old" - and not in a good way. I've also known people in their 70s who could give people 30 years their junior a run for the money. As for myself, I have absolutely no idea what 49 is supposed to feel like. Internally, deep down in my self-identity, I don't feel significantly different than I did in my late 20s. I have no clue at all what "to act one's age" means and I don't think I want to find out. If it means to rein myself in from things I want to do simply because of the number of birthdays I've had, then I want nothing to do with it.

This year I'm determined not to focus too much on what has not come to me. I plan to continue as I have been with necessary course corrections and continue to hope. Beats the heck out of the alternative.