Waste Not, Want Not
So I IMed with an LJer I’ve never met today, and after several rounds of wit on her part and almost entirely witless counters on mine, she made a casual comment implying our age difference, to which my immediate gut reaction was to type quite adamantly that I was not that old.
By definition, having done that, I really am. After all, I actually used the word “book” in the colloquial sense, as in “I was so totally late, I had to book over here.” At thirty, I’m older than a few of my high school teachers were, and I recall my perception of the gap all too well. When talking to my brother-in-law, a college freshman, I’m even tempted to begin every sentence with the when-I-was-your-age prefix. I’ve always hated that. I still do, especially when my seniors patronize me with the line.
But I like where I am. I love who I’m with. I wouldn’t want to be any younger and have a daughter, and I can’t imagine going back to the life of doldrums I had without her. But I needed the first half of my twenties to be selfish and self-centered, and the second half to spend with sigh_ren so we could be selfish and self-centered together. Each of us has his own timeline; I have finally entered a stage in mine where I can finally be considered (quite officially) old. Where middle-aged now means one’s forties and fifties. I’ve realized that I only thought about it because I always believed I should. But worry is for the wasteful and wasted.
So long as I avoid that, I’m going to love growing old.
By definition, having done that, I really am. After all, I actually used the word “book” in the colloquial sense, as in “I was so totally late, I had to book over here.” At thirty, I’m older than a few of my high school teachers were, and I recall my perception of the gap all too well. When talking to my brother-in-law, a college freshman, I’m even tempted to begin every sentence with the when-I-was-your-age prefix. I’ve always hated that. I still do, especially when my seniors patronize me with the line.
But I like where I am. I love who I’m with. I wouldn’t want to be any younger and have a daughter, and I can’t imagine going back to the life of doldrums I had without her. But I needed the first half of my twenties to be selfish and self-centered, and the second half to spend with sigh_ren so we could be selfish and self-centered together. Each of us has his own timeline; I have finally entered a stage in mine where I can finally be considered (quite officially) old. Where middle-aged now means one’s forties and fifties. I’ve realized that I only thought about it because I always believed I should. But worry is for the wasteful and wasted.
So long as I avoid that, I’m going to love growing old.