Embracing Our Age

I have a dear friend who has cried on every one of her birthdays. She mourns her youth and dreads turning another year older each year. She cried on her eighteenth birthday, and I remember being completely puzzled. Birthdays don’t really bother me; I just tend to get somewhat reflective and introspective.

Getting older is not the great tragedy my friend always makes it out to be. I’ll admit it, there are times when I wish I could have the little body I had when I was sixteen, and I wish I could have the youthful exuberance and naïveté my high school students have. But I wouldn’t go back. I wouldn’t go back to the angst and drama. I wouldn’t go back to the insecurities. I find myself thinking more and more about this as my next birthday approaches.

One of my favorite movie lines, as simple as it is, is from Grumpy Old Men. Burgess Meredith tells his son, played by Jack Lemmon, “Life is about the experiences.” This was never illustrated more to me than when right after college, my very good friend from high school was killed in a horse-riding accident. I spoke with his mother at the funeral, and she said that one of her consolations was that in his very short life, he had really, truly lived. I have taken this to heart in my life and have tried to experience many things. I have never wanted to say, “What if?”

So what are these experiences that define us? What are the favorite choices and favorite mistakes? I can tell you mine, and I can tell you that I wouldn’t change a thing.

Ignoring the advice of my math teacher father, I got an English degree and became a teacher. I will always work hard for not a whole lot of money, but I love what I do. I got married at twenty-two and divorced at twenty-five. Was it a mistake? At one point I might’ve thought so. But think about how much we learn in our relationships. I definitely made mistakes in that marriage, but realizing that helps me to be a better wife now. I took a chance and moved to Pittsburgh with my husband before we were even engaged, much to the disapproval of my family and friends. We’ve been married for six years, and living in Pittsburgh was one of the best experiences of my life.

We went to Paris, we went to Scotland, I developed a taste for scotch, we adopted my niece and nephew, I took on a department chair position at a new high school, I ran a half-marathon, I started grad school, I let a friend go, I didn’t avoid an important argument, I gave up my Jeep for an economical, kid-friendly car, I wore a skimpy bikini in public, I took a girls’ trip, I made a fool out of myself and enjoyed it, I said what was on my mind, I took a risk, I kept a secret, I embraced my dark side, I shared my most personal thoughts and dreams.

These experiences have led me to believe that youth is overrated. At thirty-six years old, I am in my prime. I may have some laugh lines around my eyes, a deeper crease than I used to on my forehead, a few gray hairs here and there, and skin that’s not quite as taught as I would like, but I carry myself with more confidence and feel smarter and sexier than I ever have. I laugh more easily, cry a lot less, and try to not take life and myself as seriously as I once did. Youth is not wasted on the young; we just don’t embrace our age in the way we should.  I now may be closer to forty than to thirty, but my thirties have been better than my twenties. My forties are going to rock!