I’m too Young to be this Old.

I am no longer “pushing 50.” Almost two years after that milestone, I can say that I’m doing pretty well. Unfortunately, my body is staging a revolt.

I’m fairly fit – I do yoga regularly and walk a mile or two nearly every day. The old bod says thank you by insisting on hanging onto those 10 extra pounds no matter how much I watch my calories, or my carbs, or my fat grams, or my sugar. Based on the way I feel each morning, I’m also convinced that some invisible gremlin is taking a hammer to my joints as I sleep.

I try to look my best by doing the usual upkeep of covering my gray and plucking/waxing/shaving all the correct parts. So how, during a 45 minute meeting, can an inch long chin hair somehow appear out of nowhere? Don’t get me started on my Andy Rooney-esque eyebrows. At least my esthetician should be able to send her kids to college.

As if it wasn’t bad enough to be assaulted from within on a daily basis, the world is also out to get me.

I used to be incredibly tech savvy. I could program my VCR and hook up my stereo speakers like a pro. My punch cards in my data processing class were impeccable. Now, my phone does more than my first computer did. I try to keep up with software updates, new devices, social media. It’s exhausting.

I knew I was no spring chicken when I realized that some new kid at work was born the year I graduated from college. I remember how I thought of the years before I was born as this quaint, black and white world of my parents. Now someone in the next cubical is thinking of my life in the same way.

I’m not old! I still sing along at the top of my lungs with the Clash or the Ramones as I drive through the neighborhood. That’s something a young person does right? Until I hear “I Want to be Sedated” in the grocery store. How did this happen?!

I’m still hip, I tell you! I listen to Mark Ronson, Hozier and Avicii. I watch Orange is the New Black and Inside Amy Schumer. I even know what bae means, dammit!

Then there’s this cult called AARP that keeps sending me mail. They’ll try to lure you with their free snazzy tote bags and discounted hotel rates, but I’m not falling for it.

Just when I think I’m about to lose it, I realize that it’s not so bad. Things are cyclical, right? The house I grew up in is now “mid-century modern” and very desirable. Vinyl records are a thing again, as is black and white photography. Hipsters are really just younger beatniks. It’s going to be ok. I can relate to the world as it is today. I’m feeling much better.

Until this comes in the mail…

 

 

Thanks world. Thanks a bunch.