I've been obsessing about my wrinkles. I think it has something to do with being 65 this year. There are momentous birthdays in our lives which affect us whether we acknowledge it or not. Remember turning five and heading to kindergarten? What a day that was... Suddenly, just because we were five, we entered a completely new world, and by doing so discovered pretty quickly the world we stepped out of was also subtly altered. Perhaps that's why so many moms cry as they leave their children at the school door for the first time.
Then, there's 10, or what I think of at the double digit birthday. I felt becoming a double digit like ALL the adults I admired made me part of their special club. I definitely couldn't be called a 'baby' anymore. This is the first time I contemplated being an adult. I could actually visualize myself as a 'grown up'.
Next, was 13, or becoming a teeny bopper. While the first double digit birthday was mostly positive, our culture has a lot of negative energy directed at teenagers. Moody, unresponsive, messy, unfocused, uncontrolled or even uncontrollable are a few of the adjectives hurled at kiddos whose inner hormonal turmoil makes them feel they are no longer in control of their own bodies. I've talked to lots of people who grew seven or eight inches seemingly overnight. Not only did their bodies actually hurt, but they even injured themselves repeatedly. They couldn't get a grip on their own body space because it was changing so quickly. Banged elbows and knees, spilled glasses at the dinner table, and actually tripping over yourself are common experiences of teens in growth spurts. No wonder it's a big celebration exiting the teen years. Becoming 21 is heralded as the start of adulthood. Oddly, we celebrate the onset of our supposed adulthood by getting blitzed with our well meaning friends. Woo Hoo! Have another tequila shot! It's hilarious that no one over the age of 40 thinks a 21 year old is an adult except at a bar.
Oldsters still think of twenty somethings as kids, and parents still valiantly try to retain parental clout long past 21. Our son-in-law hit 30 today. Wow! Thirty means, hey, I'm a full fledged adult - back off, Mom and Dad. No one can possibly think of a person who is 30 as a 'kid' anymore. This birthday hits some folks very hard. The ones who have not achieved any of their dreams, or who have achieved them and found them hollow find age 30 a mental minefield. For others, it's a relief to have their decisions and judgments validated by their age.
Lordy, Lordy _________________ (fill in the blank) is 40! I've actually seen flashing portable signs planted in front yards announcing the start of middle age for the poor, unsuspecting soul to all the neighbors and passersby. This is when black party decorations make their appearance. It's as if age 40 puts one of your feet into your own grave. Since a 40 year old is obviously in the prime of life in a life span of 80+ years, the 40th birthday party draped in black crepe paper is just fun, fun, fun. I can remember comforting myself at age 40 with the following rationale: "I can't possibly be one of those fuddy duddy middle aged stick in the muds; I have a kindergartner!" Like that makes a difference. When you're 40+, you're middle aged; it's not the new '30'.
Then, BANG, age 65 hits like the tsunami of the teen years. Sign up for Medicare. Are you collecting Social Security yet? You're retiring soon, right? Better get that knee joint replaced; it's only going to get worse. Think about downsizing, and get that will or trust in order. Thinking about the dementia statistics at this point in your life will send you into a fetal ball. Life feels like it's accelerating downhill with no brakes.
Maybe trying to minimize my wrinkles with specialty cream is me trying to apply non-existent brakes. At least I'm not contemplating hair dye or a face lift. (Well, I'm actually thinking about buying spray on/wash out hair dye and spraying my one lock of conspicuously clumped white hair over my left eye to match my daily outfit.) However, upon further reflection, the hair dye spray idea seems a bit over the top. A little too punk for my advanced age? I'm just glad I'm not totally gray since I could never chain myself to the permanent hair dye routine. One silver lining to living in Sun City, Arizona is here we are 'youngsters' - yes, I've actually been called a youngster. Inside my heart, though, I know I'm not young.
My last realization is the final life milestone is death. "She/he was _____ years old when he/she died. It's a lottery; you never know when your number will be called. Unfortunately, we are all automatically enrolled; we didn't even have to buy a ticket. Maybe these wrinkles aren't so bad after all....
