Old Soul
When I worked at Starbucks, around the time when I was eighteen or so (give or take, I can't remember exactly how old I was when the question was asked), I had a younger gentleman ask me how old I was in a vague attempt to flirt with me. I was flattered by his attempts, but was more curious about his intentions. I gave the Trap Challenge every woman gives to discern whether or not you pass: Guess.
Taken slightly aback by my sauciness, he obliged my challenge and tried like a gentleman to ask with the most confidence he could muster. He stared at me for a bit, sizing me up and then when he thought he'd nailed down an age, he stood tall, and guessed.
32.
I immeadiately didn't know whether to be insulted or complimented, and I laughed and informed him he was about a decade off. He blinked at me then proceeded to guess 40, which was also wrong, and I finally just had to correct him to keep him from embarassing himself and myself any further.
Lets walk four years down the road, back in my hometown at a study group with a woman who had graduated with my oldest brother and my fathers dear friend's wife. We all guessed ages, and I found that the only one I missed by much was the wife. The woman I missed by two years. Both of them asked my age, and once again. The curiousity struck once again, and I let them guess. The woman guessed 35. The Wife guessed 30. Both of the men that were at the study group (my father's friend and the woman's husband who had also graduated with my eldest brother) were about as stunned as I was. I once again had to correct them by about a decade.
The best save I've heard yet is that I carry myself with the heir of a 30-year-old.
Once again - I can't decide if this is a compliment, or subtle way of saying to remove the large stick that has been shoved up my ass since I was 15 or 16.
This being said, its hard to imagine I come off to others with an older sense of self. I watch cartoons, read manga, and on a usual basis, can be unusually petulant child and rather angry. I suppose my anger could also be mistaken as bitterness, which you only see in regretful old hags, which is quite possibly what I've painted myself as and why people could continuously be guessing a much older age than I am. There is a slight fear that the general population will mistake me for being twice my age when I'm 30!
This brings up the inquiry how does one come about that 'Old Soul' vibe? What must happen to a person when they are being mistaken as someone who has lived life a bit longer than the rest of them? My life has been far from traumatizing; in fact, I've had the courtesy and blessing of a charmed life in middle class. I've always lived in a five bedroom two bathroom house, with a kitchen and a dining room, and I have never known hunger as an intimate guest. To be completely honest, my anger and bitterness spouts from not being where I want to be and doing the things I've wanted to do that I keep promising to myself I'm going to do.
So how in the world does one increase in wisdom and power and glory forever and ever amen?
I have two theories at best.
One of which would be the sense of morality I've had and been trained to have since I was 9. Church started up and morality lessons were taught, to which at first I clung to; then dropped. I got tired of not having what I wanted, and scorned faith because faith was ruining my fragile jr. high sense of life. In the back of my mind, even now, I have always had a sense of right and wrong. Christianity has only strengthened that morale and made it to where it is harder for me to just do whatever I want without considering first the consequences of actions taken, and then the effect on others it might leave.
Had I done what both of my sisters have and just gone bat-shit crazy taking my fill of what I want when I want, I would most likely be in their very positions - either addicted to pain medications or living in a dump with a baby that I didn't really want. I like doing well by others. Now that I'm older its more muddled than it once was, because there is always an underlying gain to my actions, but feeling good that others feel good is something I strive for.
My second theory is that I really did have a traumatizing event that I simply don't remember, or were too young to experience it and didn't understand what was happening to me. There are few and far between memories beyond the age of 3, and those that are, are really creepy.
Being disgusted by the smell of mold because it reminds you of a damp cellar where laundry is done and where a dog is kept that you know you've been in at some point in life is not a good memory to call up. Mold is such a common scent that now that the memory has been chaulked up (I recently discovered this in the last year or so), everytime I smell it, the memory comes back stronger. I'm hoping I'll understand it better as I continue to experience the memories brought on by my senses.
Until then, I'm just another old hag with bitterness and anger issues. At least we can do a spin-off of Grumpy Old Men; it'll be called Bitchy Old Women.
Taken slightly aback by my sauciness, he obliged my challenge and tried like a gentleman to ask with the most confidence he could muster. He stared at me for a bit, sizing me up and then when he thought he'd nailed down an age, he stood tall, and guessed.
32.
I immeadiately didn't know whether to be insulted or complimented, and I laughed and informed him he was about a decade off. He blinked at me then proceeded to guess 40, which was also wrong, and I finally just had to correct him to keep him from embarassing himself and myself any further.
Lets walk four years down the road, back in my hometown at a study group with a woman who had graduated with my oldest brother and my fathers dear friend's wife. We all guessed ages, and I found that the only one I missed by much was the wife. The woman I missed by two years. Both of them asked my age, and once again. The curiousity struck once again, and I let them guess. The woman guessed 35. The Wife guessed 30. Both of the men that were at the study group (my father's friend and the woman's husband who had also graduated with my eldest brother) were about as stunned as I was. I once again had to correct them by about a decade.
The best save I've heard yet is that I carry myself with the heir of a 30-year-old.
Once again - I can't decide if this is a compliment, or subtle way of saying to remove the large stick that has been shoved up my ass since I was 15 or 16.
This being said, its hard to imagine I come off to others with an older sense of self. I watch cartoons, read manga, and on a usual basis, can be unusually petulant child and rather angry. I suppose my anger could also be mistaken as bitterness, which you only see in regretful old hags, which is quite possibly what I've painted myself as and why people could continuously be guessing a much older age than I am. There is a slight fear that the general population will mistake me for being twice my age when I'm 30!
This brings up the inquiry how does one come about that 'Old Soul' vibe? What must happen to a person when they are being mistaken as someone who has lived life a bit longer than the rest of them? My life has been far from traumatizing; in fact, I've had the courtesy and blessing of a charmed life in middle class. I've always lived in a five bedroom two bathroom house, with a kitchen and a dining room, and I have never known hunger as an intimate guest. To be completely honest, my anger and bitterness spouts from not being where I want to be and doing the things I've wanted to do that I keep promising to myself I'm going to do.
So how in the world does one increase in wisdom and power and glory forever and ever amen?
I have two theories at best.
One of which would be the sense of morality I've had and been trained to have since I was 9. Church started up and morality lessons were taught, to which at first I clung to; then dropped. I got tired of not having what I wanted, and scorned faith because faith was ruining my fragile jr. high sense of life. In the back of my mind, even now, I have always had a sense of right and wrong. Christianity has only strengthened that morale and made it to where it is harder for me to just do whatever I want without considering first the consequences of actions taken, and then the effect on others it might leave.
Had I done what both of my sisters have and just gone bat-shit crazy taking my fill of what I want when I want, I would most likely be in their very positions - either addicted to pain medications or living in a dump with a baby that I didn't really want. I like doing well by others. Now that I'm older its more muddled than it once was, because there is always an underlying gain to my actions, but feeling good that others feel good is something I strive for.
My second theory is that I really did have a traumatizing event that I simply don't remember, or were too young to experience it and didn't understand what was happening to me. There are few and far between memories beyond the age of 3, and those that are, are really creepy.
Being disgusted by the smell of mold because it reminds you of a damp cellar where laundry is done and where a dog is kept that you know you've been in at some point in life is not a good memory to call up. Mold is such a common scent that now that the memory has been chaulked up (I recently discovered this in the last year or so), everytime I smell it, the memory comes back stronger. I'm hoping I'll understand it better as I continue to experience the memories brought on by my senses.
Until then, I'm just another old hag with bitterness and anger issues. At least we can do a spin-off of Grumpy Old Men; it'll be called Bitchy Old Women.