When Did I Get This Old?

I was thirty-five years old… yesterday. Well, it felt like yesterday, but really it was ten years ago. I do not know where time has gone. How did I get this old?  When it was passing, it did not feel like it was moving quickly, but now that it is gone, I want it back. There is a sadness I feel for the loss of time. A sadness that devours my happiness. I long for time to revert. Not so that I can relive what some perceive to be the glory years or make good on all my mistakes, no it is more than that.  You see, I knew I was going to get older as we all do, I just thought that it would never happen to me. As if I am immune to time and aging.

I distinctly remember my grandfather one day looking in the mirror and saying he did not recognize the man staring back at him. He was joking but I knew there was truth to his statement. When he said this, I asked him how old he felt. He looked at me and smiled and said quite definitively, thirty-five. I am beginning to understand this contradiction. Our bodies may age, and our souls may learn, but the innate light that keeps us alive remains bright and vibrant, unaffected by the passage of time.  Perhaps this is why the vision we hold of ourselves in our minds seldom matches the one in the mirror.

I would say my biggest pet peeve about aging is how society treats you. As if I was never young once. As if my time, my experiences and my youth meant nothing, when in fact they helped shape the person I am today. The older person looking through you as you stand on your pedestal so quick to throw your labels my way.  I am also beginning to see how a woman who ages gracefully becomes less visible. It is not that she is invisible, she just slowly fades into the background until you barely notice her existence. When I was younger, I used to roll my eyes at the pervy older men who would glance my way. I would dismiss their inappropriateness and inability to take me seriously because that was my only option. Now I feel fortunate if someone calls me miss as opposed to ma’am. In fact, when they do call me ma’am, I correct them and say, “you can call me miss, thank you”. I do not want to feel fortunate for being noticed. I want to feel like myself despite society’s inability to keep its stigmas out of my life.

While I find myself struggling to recognize the woman staring back at me when I look in the mirror, I find my frustration more with society than anyone else. I do not want to be told who I am based on my age. I also do not want to be treated like some elderly person at any age. Just as people of all faiths and colors wish to be treated for who they are rather than what they look like or believe, I too want that same luxury. Why would getting older be any different? When did ageism become okay? Gen Zers like to poke fun at Baby Boomers, a generation they could never understand. Shame on them. When did disrespecting your elders become common place? I take pleasure in thinking about how one day those that once treated their senior citizens as less than will soon learn the same lesson I am learning now – no one is immune. To grow old is to be awarded one of the greatest gifts in life – time. Something that is not negotiable but is finite and invaluable.

Getting older is not a hindrance but a luxury. A luxury that deserves celebration. There are so many times when I wish I could go back in time and appreciate my grandparents more, ask them the questions I never asked, learn about who they were as individuals and realize how precious the time I had been given with them was.  Most societies celebrate their elders and incorporate them into their community. They recognize their value, cherish and appreciate it like a fine wine who has served its time. I would ask why we as a society do not follow in these footsteps, but I already know the answer. The young people in our society assume they know it all. They think they have all the answers – just like I once did. They forget that those they make fun of were once young like them. While I may not be seen by society the same way I was when I was twenty, that is okay. What is not okay is society and people putting ideas and thoughts in my head about who I am and what I should be doing based on my age. The irony is that while the young these days are so touchy and sensitive as to how the world treats them and what words we should and should not use, they have no problem policing everyone else but themselves.   Perhaps that is only something someone who is wise would understand. That and compassion for what you do not know.

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